


Parenthood

by Aleph (Immatrael), EarthScorpion



Series: Ascensions and Transgressions [11]
Category: Exalted
Genre: F/F, F/M, Role-Playing Game, Roleplay Logs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 191,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immatrael/pseuds/Aleph, https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthScorpion/pseuds/EarthScorpion
Summary: With Baisha and her brother behind her, Keris has only her parents left to find. Her mother's trail leads her west, towards the silver mines of Malra. Yet as her children quicken and the wheel of vengeance turns; she will learn there are many types of bond between mother and child.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This arc follows the Kerisgame extra [Trust Your Instincts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788219)

“Mmff.”

“Kerishyra!” Kuha scrambles over to her boss. “You were so far asleep! Your heart was barely beating! What was it? Another godsdream?” She watches anxiously as Keris stirs, one hand coming up to scrub at her face as her tongue flicks out over her teeth.

Grey eyes open slowly. Their pupils are vertical slits, and silver feathers chime against each other as a lock of hair falls over a slanted shoulder. Blinking a couple of times to take in her surroundings, Keris gives Kuha a secretive little smile and hums low in her throat.

“Something like that,” she says.

Behind her eyes, a coiled and watchful presence croons agreement.

Oula is also there, and she reaches out with silver-nailed hands, brushing Keris’ hair. “There are silver feathers in your hair,” she says in wonder, her baby-soft hands brushing Keris’ scalp. “They’re like...”

Keris doesn’t really hear much more.

((Sensory roll from Oula’s touch. :p))  
((14 dice, 8x2+4=20 successes, lawl.))  
((Keris can react as you wish.))

“Ngaaah!”

A high-pitched noise forces its way out of Keris’s throat as she seizes, shuddering at the sheer _intensity_ of the touch. She can feel every loop and whorl of Oula’s fingerprints - apparently keruby have them, which she’d never known before - the soft-but-firm rigidity of her skin, the pulsing of blood and the microscopic expansion of capillaries underneath... and it’s not just Oula. Every thread, every fibre in her clothes stands out in her mind, every brush of the room’s mostly-still air across her body, every tiny vibration of the floor from people moving about elsewhere in the building - thirteen within twenty metres or so of her; two groups of five and one of three, she can _feel so much_...

It’s every bit as overwhelming as when her hearing expanded. As when her taste did. This is the third time one of her senses has awoken like this, and she’s still not at all prepared for the crashing wave of sensory overload. Curling into a ball, she draws her hair around herself - which results in a cacophony of touch-sensing-touch but at least gets rid of everything else - and prays for it to stop.

Surprisingly, it does.

Huh.

Apparently she can turn this one off. Which is a relief.

“Auntie Keris!” Oula wails loudly, which doesn’t help with the sensory overload at all. “Are you sick?”

“Stop stop stop, hang on, hold up,” Keris pants, waving a hand and squeezing her eyes shut. Makers, is that how sensitive Pekhijira is _all the time?_ No wonder it notices whenever something steals from it. “My... my touch. Got as sensitive as my hearing. Or my tastebuds. I just... wasn’t ready for it, there.” She runs a quick assessment. Her body seems to be settling down, back to normal levels, but... she remembers the feeling of _feeling_ so intensely.

Stretching out her hand cautiously, she lets her po’s acuity fill her fingertips and flood to the surface of her skin.

((Keris does indeed discover that she can turn her Charms on and off))

Unfortunately, that’s when Rathan comes rushing in, having heard Keris’ scream and Oula’s wail, and throws himself on his mother in a desperate hug. “Mama mama mama are you alright oh no, you have the snake’s feathers in your hair, no no no she’s stolen your body!”

If she thought Rathan’s hugs were overwhelming before, now he just makes her go soft and gooey. And, uh, think of Rat in ways that aren’t at all helpful right now.

“No, no, darling,” she immediately hastens to reassure him. “It’s fine, it hasn’t stolen me. We just talked in my dreams, and agreed to stop fighting. And I think it’s helping me now and lending me some of its power. I can feel things more. Please don’t be upset!”

Rathan doesn’t let go, but at least he’s rocking her less violently. “It... can talk? It just sort of wails normally. It’s not as bad as Haneyl or Zanara claims it is, but it’s still pretty bad.” He pauses. “Although those two do provoke it deliberately,” he adds, because he can’t resist the urge to get a dig in on his siblings.

“Yes, well,” Keris shrugs. It’s fine to share what happened with Rathan, she decides. He just wants her to be safe, and it’ll set his mind at ease. “It attacked the Isles, and when I went to see what it wanted it had a... a po-Gale. A snake-y version of me, all white-haired and feral, that it was using as a kind of puppet. Neither really _talked_ , but it sort of felt things in my direction until I worked out what it was mad about.”

“Was it Zanara deliberately poking at it?” Rathan asks with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

“... partly that, yes,” Keris has to admit. “And also some other stuff. We sorted it out.”

Rathan considers. “It’s not going to move into the City, is it?” he asks. “Because Dulmea would get super mad at you if it moved in with her.”

“It’s happy staying out on the Rim - did you know it has land out there?” Keris asks. “Because it does, just inside the Cloud Wall. But it’s happy staying there. I decreed it would get festivals and it seems happy with that.”

“... well, it’s good that it’s getting along with you,” Rathan decides, after a long pause. He lets go of Keris mostly, although that’s because Oula’s used the chance to sidle up and hug-glomp him from behind. He turns rather red in the face, probably because she’s wearing a thin silk shirt and pressing herself up against him.

“So how are you feeling, Aunty Keris?” Oula asks from her new resting place. “How much longer are we going to be here?”

Kuha nods, with only occasional sideways glances at Oula. “I want a chance to fly again properly, and we’ve seen your family off. Also, can I have my face back at some point? I think I’m bored of being Tairan.”

“I want to stay here until tomorrow night,” Keris says. “So that I can summon another anyaglo... and Calesco. Then we can get going - and yes, Kuha, you can have another change of face just before we set off.”

Kuha pulls a face. “Do we need to wait? You can run, I’m small and can ride with your uncle, and...”

“I’ll hold onto Rathan,” Oula says quickly. “I don’t need a separate mount to him.”

“... wait, when did we agree that?”

“Just now, sweetie. Hush, don’t embarrass yourself.”

Keris purses her lips. “... I suppose I’d rather not summon Calesco near Kazem anyway,” she admits. “Alright, fine. We’ll set off this afternoon, as soon as we’ve finished packing everything. Kuha, go get Xasan. Oula, help me pack up the last of the supplies. Rathan, see if- _damn_.” She scowls. “I’m going to need to anchor Calesco in something. Hmm. I... guess maybe my Lance? Or... ach, I don’t have any hearthstones with me. The ones from my manse would be perfect for this.”

Kuha coughs nervously. “So, uh, funny story, last night I might have dreamed of a shadowy little girl with black wings and hair that moved like yours who asked me if I wanted to have access to her demonic magic and the gift of flight in return for me sharing my body with her during daylight hours. And I said yes, and she said that she had ritual markings you should tattoo on me which will make me a better host for her. Calescohyra says she’ll be fine with me, Kerishyra.”

“...” says Keris.

There is a brief pause.

“... _Calescooo!_ ”

“Yes, mother?” Calesco audibly sips tea, which suggests she may be with Dulmea. “So you finally woke up.”

“Yes, I am awake,” Keris snaps, vaguely aware of her entourage watching her with the air of people trying to guess at the other side of a conversation they can only hear half of. At least they know she’s not crazy, even if she is talking to the voices in her head. “Though I’m being told by Kuha about you suggesting she become a demonhost, which _must_ be a dream or something because it’s _really dangerous and a terrible idea; why would you suggest that?_ ”

Calesco takes a long sip. “Because you gave shapeless beauty to Rathan, and I refuse to infuse myself into one of your murder weapons,” she says crisply. “I think it would be good for me to understand what it’s like to have a human body. And this way, I’ll be able to help and protect Kuha who’s only human, because you’re inevitably going to forget you have mortals along and go rushing off.” She pauses. “Also, I like Kuha. She’s sweet, and you’re nice to her, and that means I like her and I want to let her see how it feels to fly,” she adds more softly.

“That...” Keris objects, and gets stuck on the objection part. “It... you... Kuha, hosting a demon lord in your body is dangerous! It could really hurt you if something goes wrong!”

Kuha looks at Keris, her eyes steely. “No, because I believe in you, Kerishyra,” she says, her voice clear. “You wouldn’t let things go wrong. And Calescohyra is part of you - she is the bit which cares for me, and you have been the nicest to me that anyone has ever been. You never ever hurt me. So she won’t hurt me.”

Opening and closing her mouth a few times, Keris...

((Rolling Compassion... hah! _4_ successes. Lol. And her Kuha Principle for, lol, 3 successes on 3. God _damn_ , dice fairies.))

... Keris melts just a little bit inside. And maybe blushes slightly. And she remembers Calesco’s beautiful wings, and how she thinks of her true body as ugly, and how Kuha _loves_ to fly and longs to take to the skies under her own power, and... and maybe both of them can help the other here. Maybe she just has to let them.

Kuha is already grinning. Apparently Keris failed to keep the soft look off her face.

“Alright, alright,” she says, trying to retain some authority. “But I’m going to be extra-careful with those tattoos, in that case. Rathan, could you go and get Xasan instead? Tell him we’re leaving this afternoon. Oula, finish the packing. Kuha; clothes off and sit on the bed. This ritual needs to be done perfectly on the first try.”

Rathan all but flees the room, to a small pout from Oula who sighs and heads next door to start in Rathan’s stuff. Kuha disrobes.

Keris can’t help but grin slightly. She did good work with Kuha. No she did great work. Every time she looks at her disciple’s body, she’s reminded that she was a dying child-like woman poisoned by what her clan did to her when they first met. Now, Keris can see the muscles in Kuha’s back flex as she strips down.

Her, Keris and Oula; three tiny, but strong and toned women. Fuck yes.

Dulmea provides Keris with a full on, human-scale picture of the human body and where the tattoos should go. It’s obviously something Calesco went to Zanara for, because the woman on the picture looks so real it’s a wonder she doesn’t step off the anatomy chart.

“All right,” Keris says, her fingers extending fractally into roots. “Let’s get to work.”  
  
((Okay, so this is Cog + Occult, Diff 6. Temple-as-Body Style and Malfean Scholar Style both apply, although the precise style they take depends on the balance Keris uses between the two. The raw time for this roll is 24 hours, normally done in smaller bouts over a longer period.))  
((4+5+2 stunt+3 Temple-as-Body Style+9 Kimmy ExD {great artist, disturbing art}=23. 10 sux.))  
  
The rest of the world fades away, and she indulges in her new sense of touch to - hah, yes - feel her way around with pinpoint precision. Hell, to her new sense of touch, pinpoint accuracy is _sloppy_. Drawing on Lilunu’s lessons, Keris traces dark lines across Kuha’s skin, aligning them with her chakras and sensing how they’ll bind Calesco within the host-body as one part prisoner, one part guest.  
Wing-like black markings fan out as she works over Kuha’s spine, shoulders, and ankles. That black marking of the Dragon is on her brow, just like it sits on Calesco’s real body. Delicate Yozi-born lines cradle her breasts to emphasise her Compassion chakra and subjugate all her other chakras to that. There’s so much black ink on her skin that it almost looks like Kuha’s torso and limbs are wrapped in shadows. Keris goes ahead and gives her real face back as well, since messing with her flesh while Calesco is living in it sounds like a bad idea. She’d forgotten how tiny Kuha’s natural form is. But then, Calesco is a petite little thing as well, if you discount her enormous wings. Perhaps it’s appropriate.

“If anything goes wrong,” Keris says quietly; a reminder to both Kuha and Calesco, “at any point, I’ll pull Calesco back into me. We can always try again with another new moon if you really want this. I’d rather delay it than have you pretending it doesn’t hurt to get as much time as you can. That goes for both of you. Okay?”

“Yes,” Kuha says, nodding.

“I don’t want to hurt her either,” Calesco says gently.

“Alright,” Keris announces. “In that case we’re done. Cover up. You don’t want the sunlight touching any of these markings until they’re set and you two are bonded. Or any light at all, actually. Wear your thickest cloak. We’ll be off in...” she cocks an ear to Oula. “... nowish, I think.”

“This is so pretty,” Kuha says admiringly as she gets dressed again. “If you want to decorate me later, I would want to do it.”

“The last place we found these things was in Ran,” Calesco says. “That’s where we should start. And we’ll be able to go a lot faster - but you’ll need to sleep to get me out. Will we be able to get there tonight?”

Keris checks the map, measuring things out. She thinks maybe if they push it - but no, wait, she’s already woken up late and anyaglos are distractible. It’d probably be safer and less reliant on her slightly dubious sense of direction to take it more slowly and find a smaller town or just a place to camp tonight. Or she could push it.

“... we’ll... take it slowly,” she says, hating even this tiny delay but aware that getting lost will slow them down even more. “And getting you out is a priority. You can see them too; that gives us two trackers rather than one.”

“We could probably find the river and head up and see how far we get,” Zanara contributes, clearly trying to cheer Keris up.

“We’ll go upriver until it gets dark, then camp once the sun goes down,” Keris agrees. “If we’re lucky, we can get most of the way there and then take our time pinpointing the trail the next day.”

Keris pays her tab and leaves, making her way out on foot at first. Xasan and Kuha are loaded up with bags, while Rathan has - perhaps unsuprisingly - got Oula carrying most of his luggage. Kerisa is just on Keris’ back, as usual.

“That’s a good place, in some ways,” Rathan observes, looking back at the tent city surrouding the old city. “I liked the markets.”

“Building out of wood like that? With no planning? It’s so ugly!” Oula says from under her big pile of bags.

“Saata is better,” Keris opines firmly. “I’m actually sort of missing it. I’ve been away longer than I meant to. Come on, you.” She clicks her tongue at the ribbon-horse she summoned before crashing the previous night, and beckons Cissidy out.

“Mount up,” she orders. “Xasan and Kuha on Cissidy; Rathan and Oula on our new friend here. Stay low and keep me in sight - we’ll be moving fast upriver and trying to avoid people seeing us. If anyone tries to intercept us, we just outrun them. All clear?”

It’s mid afternoon by this point, and since they’re hugging the coastline things are slower - relatively speaking. It’s a trip Keris has made once before, and she made sure to pick out landmarks on the way down - or more accurately she spent a lot of time desperately looking out for interesting things to stare at while she was trapped on that boat. Regardless, it helps now that she’s taking the same route back in reverse. Even if she is going a lot faster this time.

Keris manages to avoid getting lost, but they’re still short of Ran as the sun is setting. There’s a burned out windmill overlooking the river that catches her eye, and she sprints up there, the anyaglos following her.

The ribbon-horses are acting brave, but Cissidy complains a bit at Keris about how much weight she’s carrying and how it’s slowing her down. Ribbon-horses aren’t made to carry baggage - it’s just as well she didn’t push them, because they would have collapsed. Cissidy’s ribbons are stained with sweat and she doesn’t even run - she just collapses down by a stream and starts lapping up water.

“I’ll look for firewood,” Keris’ uncle says, wrapped up warm in many thick layers and with a new fur hat on. He takes his shortbow with him. “And if I see any game, I’ll holler. Anyone else coming?”

Rathan obviously considers the relative effort of putting up the tents and hunting, and decides on the latter. “Fine. You ladies can handle the housing.”

“Oh, of course I will,” Oula says quickly.

Keris helps get the tents sorted out and spends a bit of time with her steeds, apologising to them for the load and praising them for their enjoyment. It’s a pity she’s summoning Calesco tonight, really - she’ll have to summon another anyaglo the night right after, to balance the supplies out better and reduce the weight they’re all carrying.

“Keep that cloak on, Kuha,” she warns. “The sun’s setting, not set. No letting those tattoos show until the only light is from the stars.”

“Of course not, Kerishyra.” She shivers. “It’s too cold anyway. I think I’ve gone soft. This is no way near as cold as things were back home, but I’m freezing.”

The men return a little later with arms full of deadwood and a pair of hares hanging from the end of sticks. It’s not enough for all of them, but it’ll add some flavour to the meal.

Oula, meanwhile, has been very seriously and carefully finding fallen stone and discarded clay and dropped timber, and softening it up with mercury from her hair to sculpt it into the holes in the windmill. At least it’ll keep the southerly wind off - and make it less likely to collapse.

Keris needs to be asleep to summon Calesco, but she also needs to be touching Kuha to summon Calesco into her. Thus, they wind up bedding down in the same tent with a rather grumpy Oula on another pallet, while Rathan and Xasan take the second.

Her dreams are vaguer than usual. She’s with Calesco in the Far Meadows, where the dark is almost absolute and the baking heat of the tar-flooded valleys rolls up onto the hills in sweet-smelling waves. The Cloud Wall howls ahead of them, and Keris can feel the coiled presence of her po somewhere nearby.

“You’ll go over and out?” she asks.

“I don’t need to,” Calesco says, looking up at the stars of her little corner of the world. “She’s made to be my host now. I think I’ll have a breath of fresh air first, then crawl into her through her shadow.”

“Wake me before you leave the tent?” Keris asks. “I’d like to be there when you first see Creation.”

She gives her daughter a hug and a kiss.

“Be safe,” she orders.

Calesco smiles, and takes off, flying straight upwards - until she and her wingbeats are lost in the blackness of the sky.

Keris herself spends some time with Zanara, who’s being a boy and wanting to talk about how the designs worked on Kuha and new ideas for tattoos, but really she’s just waiting for the soft touch that wakes her.

And in time it comes. The fire has died down, and it’s gloomy in the sealed off old windmill. The tents are set up in here, and in the light of the embers Keris sees Calesco’s dark form, huddled over the fire, warming herself.

“It’s cold out here,” Calesco says softly. “As cold as the Sea.” She giggles, and shivers. “More than a bit of a shock.”

“That’s... mmgh, Creation’s winter for you,” Keris yawns, trying to rock herself upright around the encumbrance of her belly without waking Oula. “Bah. Stupid... there we go.” She looks down and sighs fondly. “You two are really making it hard to get up in the mornings, you know that? I guess I should savour it. In a month or so, you’ll be making it easy by demanding I feed you before the sun’s up. At top volume.”

She waves a hand at Calesco. “How’s Kuha doing? Are you settled properly? The tattoos are holding?”

Calesco smiles. “You can see her, if you like.” Her normal form flows down her, like ink washing out of paper, and underneath it’s revealed to be... Kuha. Only not. Calesco-Kuha is as pale as Calesco’s real form, with white hair and white skin, and something about her eye shape looks more like Calesco’s, Keris thinks. It’s hard to tell, because she’s keeping her eyes screwed shut.

“My real light shines out of her eyes if I open them like this,” Calesco informs her mother. “But the tattoos... Zanara and me designed them so they’re basically my shadows in ink form. I’m still hiding in my lies now - her form is one of them. The others can’t do that, I don’t think. Well, maybe Haneyl, but she’d just infect them and take over their body. The others... I don’t think they could do this.”

Keris takes her time looking her daughter-friend over, smiling approvingly. “This is brilliant work,” she compliments. “Very clever. And very you. Alright, help me up, and we can go outside and get you your first proper look at the night sky.”

Calesco shivers, and her shadow crawls over her to wrap her up in her normal, prefered form. She helps Keris up. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go looking for Oula?” she says archly, smirking. “I’m flattered for all the attention, but she’s not here.”

Keris blinks.

“No, she’s...” she starts, prodding at the lump across the tent from them, and oh _goddammit Oula_ , it’s a mercury-moulded ridge in the floor and some scrunched up bedding.

“... in my defence,” Keris grumbles. “Her heart isn’t in her body usually, so I didn’t notice it wasn’t here. Fine, let’s go drag her out of Rathan’s bed.”

((dammit oula))

She is indeed in Rathan’s bed, although she’s still fully dressed. She seems to have crept through and is just curled up with him, arms wrapped around him. He... probably didn’t even wake up, and is just sleep-hugging her back with his hair. Keris does that too, which would cause problems if she didn’t wake up before Sasi.

“She’s too good for him,” Calesco whispers, with all the spite of a little sister.

It’s such a _cute_ display - not to mention an innocent one - that Keris can’t really muster up the heart to wake them. Also, Rathan’s reaction in the morning will probably be hilarious.

“She can inspire him to be better, then,” she whispers. “Come on, as long as she isn’t threatening his virtue I think we can leave her. Let’s show you a new sky.”

They creep outside, and Calesco pauses, looking up with fresh eyes. “It’s so... sparkly,” she says. “I’ve tried to get my stars to sparkle, but it doesn’t work.” She sniffs, leaning into Keris’ warmth and giving her a gentle, tentative hug with her hair. “It’s... it’s beautiful. It’s a night sky that isn’t just black. There’s just enough light.”

Something flares overhead, a brief flash of light that streaks above the sky. “What’s that?” Calesco gasps, sounding for all the world like a human girl seeing something for the first time.

Keris squints. “What _was_ that?” she echoes. “It wasn’t lightning; there aren’t any clouds. It might be a falling star, I guess? Those happen sometimes - they say it’s when some great fate or destiny comes to an end. Or it could be something like us. Travel by Sorcery.” She hooks a sweep of hair around Calesco’s little form and slings an arm across her shoulders, bringing her in for a cuddle. “Creation’s a big place, sweetheart. There’s a lot of strange things to discover in it.”

“It really is,” Calesco says, looking across the dark valley. “This... this place is nearly as big as the whole world. Only there’s no fog wall.”

“Do you want to go flying?” Keris asks. “A quick flight around the valley, to stretch your wings? Just be careful and stay where I can hear you.”

Calesco flexes, and frowns. “It feels a bit different,” she says, shifting her back. “Oh... ah, there it is. Yes. I have to let a little bit more of myself out to do this. Human bodies don’t have wings.” She frowns. “I... I think if I do this, she might start growing wings,” she tells Keris nervously. “Is that allowed?”

“I think if you asked her, she wouldn’t allow you not to,” Keris points out wryly. “It’s okay. Kuha will be overjoyed to have wings of her own, and if they wind up being a bad thing I can resculpt them so that she can pull them in like you can.”

“Then this might take a bit of time,” Calesco admits. “I haven’t grown wings before. Not like this.”

It takes ten minutes or so, but dark wings start to unfold from Calesco’s back. Except they’re not her normal wings. Each one is edged with pure white. Keris’s eyebrows rise sharply as she watches, but she doesn’t comment. She does let her fingertips trail across the white fringe of feathers as they flex and take a few experimental beats, though. She can feel that... maybe even Calesco doesn’t understand what ‘let more of myself out’ means. Keris can feel the echoes of her white light in them, but only the echoes. Or maybe it’s the fact she’s an awestruck child out here in the world for the first time that’s letting her maintain a middle-ground of balance.

“Tell me what it’s like up there, okay?” she teases, purposefully lighthearted. She doesn’t want to disrupt whatever unconscious balance her daughter has achieved. “Not all of us little people can fly up high every time they want to know what it’s like to look down at things.”

Calesco takes off, lost in the night sky. She spirals, she circles, she glides through the night.

Eventually she lands, beaming happily. For once, she hugs Keris without any prompting at all. Keris relaxes into it and lets herself be happy holding her daughter. All of her children are different - and difficult in different ways - but Calesco is one of the least affectionate. It’s always an extra shot of love and happiness when she’s pleased enough with Keris to hug her.

“We have a while until sun-up,” Keris says. “Is there anything you want to talk about, or are you happy just to enjoy the night?”

Calesco snuggles up to her. Even wrapped up warm - and in Kuha’s body - her body temperature is high. “Have you thought about what you’re actually going to do?” she asks softly. “What you’re willing to do? Before you found Baisha, you had no plans for what you were going to do when there were people there. What if my grandparents are dead? What if you can’t find them? What are your limits for this?”

“I _will_ find them,” Keris says firmly. “Those bloodsigns will see to that. If they’re... if I don’t... if I only find the end of their journeys, I’ll avenge them. They were taken by slavers, they were split up by _fucking_ slavers, and if it was slavers who... who ended them...”

She growls low in her throat, and it comes out as much hiss as snarl.

“But...” she adds, “I’ll... I’ll try not to go out of hand about it. If all I find are long-covered graves and no killers... I have the babies to think about, and I can’t fight all of Taira at once. Well, I could. But I won’t.”

The idea of her parents being _dead_ ; of her search for her mama and papa finding nothing but a pair of long-cold graves, is a physical pain in her heart. Keris curls in closer to Calesco to get away from it.

“I _want_ them to be alive, though,” she adds hoarsely. “So badly. I want to see them again. To have a _home_ again. To be family again. Together.”

“I’m not going to reassure you,” Calesco says, in that almost sharp voice she uses when she’s not exactly speaking as a human. “That’s Rathan’s job. He’s the one who’ll tell you everything you do is justified. I won’t. So please, remember, I’m going to be hard on you. I understand - I really do. I want to meet my grandparents. But,” she rests her hand on Keris’ midriff, “just think of who your family really is.”

((... how does MBD interact with dead characters re: “betrayal”?))  
((Dead people aren’t characters, I think?))  
((Yeah, thought so.))

With a tired nod, Keris accepts that. Her living, unborn children are vulnerable - will be even more vulnerable once they leave the safety of her womb. She can’t betray them by putting them in harm’s way - and a quest for vengeance on the behalf of the dead would do just that.

“Then,” she sighs, “let’s just hope they’re alive.”

In the morning, they prepare a quick breakfast then set off again. Their mounts are still tired, so they can’t go too quickly - and Keris herself is feeling the weight of her children more than before. Maybe it’s the knowledge that this month is it, that by the next new moon she’ll be thin.

Oula is half-asleep, and snuggled up to Rathan behind him. He’s hugging her with his hair, ‘making sure she doesn’t fall off’. Xasan now gets a steed for himself, because Calesco is flying - at least for short periods. She’s not fast enough to keep up with the ribbon-horses, but they appreciate the rest of limiting their speed.

It’s only a few hours past dawn when they seen Ran ahead of them. The town is small, petty and quiet compared to Terema, with only a few river barges docked there.

“Now this is the way to travel,” Xasan calls down to Keris. “Bull’s horns, life is so much easier this way! In two days, we’ve gone as far as we did in a month!”

“I know, right?” Keris grins. “And they’re _quiet!_ Hellish wasps might be able to carry more, but they’re loud enough to make your teeth rattle. Imagine what a mercenary force mounted on these could do!”

((Also, isn’t it Kuha by day and Calesco by night?))  
((Oh, right. Sun wasn’t up when they started off.))  
((Also, Keris gets the impression that this is Calesco’s self-imposed rule, rather than strictly anything enforced. Certainly, Calesco seems to have to catch Kuha several times when she has problems with air currents and turbulence.))  
((... ah. Heh.))  
  
She beckons them down. “Alright, I need to go in and scout for the bloodtrail. Kuha, can you can Calesco see it as well?”

“I... don’t think I can,” Kuha calls back. She pauses. “But I can,” Calesco says. It’s easy to tell when one of them is talking, because Kuha has her accent. “I’ll tell her to tell you if I see something,” she says. “And she needs a rest. Her flight technique needs improvement, so she’s tiring us out fast. Kuha, please land us and I’ll adjust our appearance to something that’ll blend in.”

It is, Keris reflects, very useful having a helper who can do that, though in light of Rathan’s presence she doesn’t mention this. This will be Calesco’s first time around other human people, too, and she decides to stick close to avert any... incidents. Ran is, after all, a town through which slavers move.  There’s a boardinghouse that Xasan made note of last time they were here that he leads them to, once they’ve landed their horses safely away, let them dematerialise, and then picked up the bags. It’s a place that’s got passing traders staying there, which means it’s got secure places to store cargo and at this time of year they have plenty of vacancies.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Oula asks, running a molded comb through her long pink hair, stripping mercury from it. She pours it into a clay pot that Keris doesn’t have the heart to tell her is the chamberpot. “Maybe me and Rathan could go around the town and ask questions.”

“I don’t think anyone will remember things from seventeen years ago,” Keris points out gently. “But if you want, ask about... hmm. Yeah, I found the warehouse we were taken to. It’s not used for slaves anymore; hasn’t been for a while. Ask about that.”

“We’ll need some money so we can go get lunch together,” Oula says, with forced casualness. She’s not very good at faking it. She’s almost vibrating with intensity.

Rathan raises a hand. “We really don’t,” he says easily. “I’m sure it’ll be on the house.”

“Well, you’re the one who’s good at getting discounts,” Keris winks at him. “So I’ll give the spending money to you, shall I? And you can use your best judgement on how to use it.”

“Oh, if you don’t have any better use for it, mama,” he says easily, holding his hands out. Oula has finished her hair, and as they head out she offers him his hand - and he takes it, almost without thinking. Keris sighs. She knows her son. He likes fairness and things to be balanced - so he’ll be finding it very hard to keep on turning her down in the face of all the love and affection she’s offering him.

“Disgusting,” Kuha - no, Calesco - mutters.

“It’s sweet,” Kuha disagrees.

“You know, _he’s_ not been making any catty comments to _you_ today,” she points out. “He even agreed I should summon you, back when we were coming down by boat.”

“B-because he’s busy taking advantage of her!” Calesco fumes. “He’s distracted!”

“Honestly, at the moment I think she’s taking advantage of him,” Keris mutters, unsure whether to grimace or smile. “He’s coming round to it, but she’s still, uh... leading. So to speak.”

“She’s remade herself to be exactly what he wants! It’s disgusting!” Calesco fumes.

((Reaction + Politics, against MDV 4))  
((5+1+2 Coadj+2 stunt=10. 4 sux. Bah, didn’t quite make it.))

Keris frowns. Calesco’s being... unusually snappish towards Rathan, despite the good mood and sense of childish wonder that has her voluntarily hugging Keris and smiling more often than usual.

Shaking her head, she dismisses it. It’s probably just the fact that Calesco doesn’t like Rathan, and is also... about twelve or so in most ways, so also doesn’t get romance.

She checks with her uncle. He’s fine to stay close to the boardinghouse and he’ll just go out and get some food and eat it in their rooms, then have a nap. He ruefully admits his eyeballs feel frozen from the cold and the wind on ribbonhorse-back.

So Keris and Kuha-Calesco head down to the docks, to find that warehouse that she had as the trail. She knows the rough location, and that her mother was _here_. It’s not hard to track down the warehouse again, and once more see the pools of blood within and the poles with rusted loops for chains attached to them, old and unused now that this warehouse is a wood barn but still telling of what it was.

A slave pen.

“I’m burning those fucking things,” she mutters. “All of them. Right now.”

“No, you’re not,” Calesco contradicts her. “This is just some innocent person’s wood warehouse now. There are people here who deserve to pay, but they’re not this place.”

“Not the wood,” Keris growls. “Look. _Those_.” She hops down into the barn and kicks at one of the old poles, dug into the ground, and the iron loops bolted onto it. “These are manacle posts. The ones I was shackled to. If they’re still here, they can be used again.” She draws her kris in a sanguine flicker and slices the thing in half with a single blow. Green fire races up and down both halves as the shaft falls; incinerating it down to ash - even the part in the ground.

“So I’m burning them,” she finishes spitefully. “Every last one.”

((5+5+2 stunt=12. 12 sux, lol. The dice fairies support her vengeance.))

“Well done,” Calesco says. “You slew some rusting metal loops, in a wood barn.”

“Can you two please stop arguing?” Kuha almost begs. “Kerishyra, is this what the inside of your head is like?”

“No, there are usually more of them talking in there,” Keris is forced to admit. “Fine. The trail split in the river. You can see it?”

“Yes,” Calesco says. “But it loops back on itself.”

Keris blinks, and silently curses how much she’s got used to relying on senses other than sight. Yes, the red tint in the water is also moving against the current.

Calesco squats by the waterside, trailing one hand in the water. “So they... separated the children from the adults here?” she says. “Is that what you remember? Maybe someone else bought all the adult slaves and the children were still sent downriver? Or maybe everyone got auctioned off here, to various buyers and resellers? What do you remember, mama?”

Honestly, not much, Keris has to admit. The majority of that trip is a hazy blur of tears and trauma that she didn’t remember much of even when she first arrived in Nexus, and the years since have only repressed it further. She’s never _wanted_ to remember much about it.

“This is the point where Sasi would be helpful,” she mutters. “Well, one way to find out. If we follow it and it winds up in another slave pen, we can assume it was being resold and not an escape.”

“I don’t think it’s an escape,” Kuha - yes, that is Kuha - says. “You can’t swim in this river. It’s too cold and too fast to go upstream. And why would she get on a ship going upstream, if she knew you were still here?”

Keris elects not to reply to that. The idea of a daring escape isn’t one she wants to let go of. Maybe Maryam was intending to come back with reinforcements. Or... or maybe they’d already been separated by then and she was trying to follow where she thought Keris had gone. Or _something_.

“Let’s just follow the trail,” she mutters. “After seeing what Rathan and Oula have found out.”

“Should we, though?” It’s Kuha again. “Kerishyra, maybe we should only move once we have found the trail for at least half a day ahead of where we currently are. You and Calescohyra are not following a real trail, it is one of power and knowing. We need not gamble that their spore does not disappear. If you can find it leads to the next town, then we can have the others move straight there. It will leave the horses more time to rest, too, because Cissidy is more tired than she is letting you know. They are like owls, they need light riders and light burdens. Calescohyra says that Ekohyra bred them for speed above all else, and I think we should rest them.”

She pauses.

“Also, Calescohyra says that knowing Ekohyra, they will be needing blood to regain their strength, and probably honey too.”

This is true, Keris has to admit. And at some point, she reflects, she really needs to work out what it is about Eko and sugar.

“That still allows us two - three - to go on ahead, though,” she says aloud. “We can see if they’ve found anything yet and tell them we’re scouting ahead. There’s still a lot of daylight left.”

“And get some food,” Kuha says hastily.

Xasan is resting at the boardhouse - napping, really. The ribbonhorse ride was worse for his nerves than perhaps he let on. Keris wakes him, and he’s entirely happy to not ride anywhere else for a few more days - although he does ask for money for food if she’s going away.

By contrast, when Keris and Calesco find Rathan and Oula, the couple - and probably mostly Rathan - have talked their way into probably the one good eatery this small town actually has. There are people at the door and it’s close to the inner walls. Of course, Keris can just stroll in - because who’s going to deny a woman who looks like Cinnamon anything - and she finds Rathan sampling the wine menu and the local delicacies while Oula glares at the waitresses.

Keris sits down next to them with a grimace, cradling her belly and slipping her hair down to massage her ankles. “Calesco and I have found the trail,” she tells them quietly. “But we already know it came down from the mountains and then headed back upriver here. We’re going to scout it out ahead for at least half a day before bringing you up behind us; there’s no point overexerting the horses following it through every twist and turn. Will you be alright staying here overnight and keeping an eye on Xasan?”

Rathan gives an idle wave, eating thin slivers of spiced meat on dark rye bread. “I’m a big boy, mama. I can look after myself. Do you want me to get anything else done while you’re away? Do we need any supplies? Any soldiers? Any ships? I can probably talk any of these people into just about anything.”

Oula perks up slightly at the mention of ‘overnight’. “I’ll keep him safe,” she promises Keris.

“Nothing we can’t move fast,” Keris says with a shake of her head, and takes a moment longer to think. “Maybe... no, we don’t know how far the trail will lead, so picking up transport now is pointless. And I can just make us some if we really need it. See if there’s anything interesting, small and magical in the market, but otherwise just rest and get ready for some more rapid travel when the trail comes through. No delays this time.”

Rathan sighs. “No chance of you summoning someone else for me, then?” he asks softly.

“We don’t need that,” Oula interjects. “Rathan, you can’t slow your mother down like that. And we need more horses first, anyway.”

Keris nods tiredly. “Yeah, I’ll be summoning another tonight and double back with it tomorrow afternoon once we’ve locked the trail in. Sorry Rathan, but anyaglos are fast and fast is what we need right now.” She drags a hand down her face. “I might need you to take joint command with Calesco once we find her. We don’t need medical tools, but if she’s in bad shape I’ll be the only one who can help and I’ll be busy with that. Hopefully it won’t come to that, but I’m giving you advance warning just in case.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Rathan says with his mouth full, “I have plenty of experience leading people. I’m the best at it, no matter what some other people called Haneyl might say.” He peers at Keris, and passes her one of the thick slabs of bread that’s serving as platters as well as its contents. “And you need to stop here for a moment and eat properly. You’re too tired and hungry.”

From the way Kuha twitches, Calesco clearly wants to take charge and contradict Rathan, but she’s trying to hold to her agreement with Kuha.

Glancing at her daughter with a medic’s eye, Keris has to admit that Rathan has a point about the food. She’s hungry, Kuha has been eating when she does, and Keris wants more of a look at how her friend is holding up under the strain of hosting a demon lord.

“Fine,” she agrees, aware that it’s in her best interests but still irritated at the delay. Not at Rathan, of course - he’s just looking out for her and he’s _right_ \- but at the situation. “Kuha, you need to eat too. I want a look at how those tattoos are holding up. Once we’ve got some food in us, we can head out again.”

Keris certainly feels better with some food and wine in her, and Kuha... well, she’s honestly eating for two. Keris is eating for three by this point, so she still has less than her, but that just means that Rathan will have to talk his way out of the bill here.

As for the tattoos, they seem to be holding up well. There’s some minor ink bleeding around the edges of the ones on her back, probably damaged by the way Calesco manifested those wings, but Keris fixes them. And yes, Kuha has wings in a way much like Calesco’s true form, hidden under the false lie of clothing Calesco has created. She is very happy about this.

Then they’re off, heading back to the docks, as Keris and Calesco try to pick up the trail again. It’s harder - the running water covers things up. The rest of the world fades into the background again as Keris’s awareness narrows down to a spearpoint. This is not, she’s aware, good for her. She can’t keep this kind of obsessive focus up, and probably shouldn’t. She can feel Pekhijira stirring uneasily in the back of her mind, especially so soon after coming to terms with it. Extended mental strain like this is what made her go crazy at Calibration.

But this is important, so she knuckles down and promises to deal with the consequences when they happen. All her senses are fine-tuned, sweeping the river and the banks for any sign or taste of blood. She even lets her skin take on the preternatural sensitivity of her hearing for bursts as long as she can bear, sluicing the water through her hair in search of any trace of phantom blood.

((Oh Keris. Last time she operated at FULL COGNITION like this for an extended period, she built up enough Limit to go crazy at Calibration.))  
((It seems that extended running at her full intellect just isn’t good for her in terms of mental strain, and may even mechanically make her roll a Limit die on a weekly basis.))

The river path is clear to her senses, especially with Calesco flying overhead to watch for things. No, she isn’t going as fast as she might like when she’s having to slow down to follow things and avoid letting the water blur together - but she’s still going as fast as a horse might gallop, easily jogging down the water and occasionally pausing to sift through it or check docks and the like to see if they got off there.

The trail sometimes heads back and forth along the river - tacking, Calesco says. The wind must have been coming from the east when they sailed this path, but it’s too straight for just that so there were probably oars too.

They’re up past where the river merged with the river coming from Basiha, back up in snowy valleys as the sun sets. There’s another small river town up ahead. The river is littered with them. There’s light coming from this one, but Keris pauses. Sunset is now. She’ll need to take a break if she wants to take advantage of this summoning chance. She swims over to the side of the bank and hauls herself out, shaking herself somewhat-dry as Calesco lands beside her. If she had her Amulet, she could just renew it to get rid of all the moisture except for what’s in her hair. As it is, her entirely-mundanely self-woven clothes are soggy and cold and cling unpleasantly, making her baby bump seem even more out of proportion than usual. Teeth chattering, Keris marks down ‘finding a way to stay clean and dry when swimming’ as a high priority.

“Are you g-getting any idea of how c-close we are?” she asks. “And can you build a fire? I need t-to summon.”

Calesco rolls her eyes at Keris. “Do you think Other Mama cares how ‘far’ something is?” she enquires.

“I’ll see if I can get a fire started, but there aren’t many trees around,” Kuha contributes, taking back control of her mouth. “This is nearly as cold as back home in early Earth. It’s been getting colder the higher we get. And the tents are back with the others. We should probably head to that town to sleep - there’s not enough cover out here that I can see in the gloom.”

Keris just nods, willing to let someone else take the reins for the moment in her exhaustion, and Calesco-Kuha sets off ahead of her, gliding low.

Tired as she is, Keris has to shove it aside for the summoning. Ribbon-horses are friendly and rarely fight, but sorcery is never entirely safe. Making sure Calesco and Kuha are clear, Keris takes a wide stance with her back to the fire and calls on her authority as all-queen of the realm within her soul.

“I call upon you now!” she cries, throwing her arms and hair out wide as her caste mark flares, “citizen of my empire, servant of my souls; ribbon-horse, fleet-footed, swift-runner! I have need of a steed in Creation! Come to me now, anyaglo!”

The world splits open as the sun sinks below the horizon, the cracks in the law of Creation enough that Keris’ will can claw straight through them. It’s not like summoning from Malfeas - there’s no sign of the Desert.

No, Keris gets a glimpse of a blood-river and rust-red sand as a white anyaglo gallops through - and behind them, a gaggle of szelkeruby who try to dive through and fail.

THANK YOU, the ribbons of the anyaglo say. It’s larger than Cissidy, so maybe it’s a boy-horse. MAD KIT’S GANG WERE AFTER MY BLOOD. YOU SAVED ME, QUEEN-BOSS.

“... you’re welcome,” Keris says. It’s always unsettling when she’s reminded that szelkeruby are vicious little things at times. “If you let me bind you, you can run however you want tonight as long as you stay within a mile of,” she gestures with a nod, “that town, and return here at sunrise. We’re on a mission that’s going to need a lot of quick travel.”

The anyaglo accedes to the binding willingly, rubbing his silk-soft ribbbon flank up against him. In fact, Keris thinks, patting him with a yawn, he’s lovely and warm.

IS SOMETHING WRONG, QUEEN BOSS? the ribbons ask

“I’m tired,” she murmurs sleepily. “Help me over to the town and give me a lick before running off, would you? Deep sleep sounds good right now.”

He gives Keris a big lick, from chin to brow.

((Endurance + Survival, Diff 3, -3 internal penalty from exhaustion))

That... was not the order she wanted him to do those two things in, Keris thinks blearily. And it is very important, she adds to herself sternly, that she stay awake and alert and not fall backwards into the river immediately and start snoring. She needs to get to the town first. _Then_ she can fall over backwards and start snoring.

((3+3+2 stunt-3 penalty=5... 1 sux.))

She is very firm on this, in her head, as the ground falls away and the stars come into view making pretty vertical arcs across her dimming field of vision and there’s a loud splash somewhere on the edges of her awareness.

Keris is shaken awake by Calesco. It’s some time after sunset and the sky is dark and Calesco is _furious_. And crying.

“Get up!” she demands. “Get up! Wake up!”

Fortunately, the few hours of sleep in the water have been enough to take the exhaustion off, and Keris jolts awake. “Gah!” she manages, flailing slightly and inhaling some water in her confusion. “What... where did... oh, dammit. Calesco, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She moves to check on her, wincing.

“Where were you?” she demands. Behind her, Keris can see three young women, dressed in sackcloth. They’re scared, bruised, battered and singed. “The people in the town were monsters! Awful, horrible monsters!”

“... I collapsed,” Keris admits, an edge of panic threading through her at the realisation that Calesco has been out doing... something, who knows what, that’s made her furious and led to her rescuing three girls. “Too tired; calling the anyaglo put me out. What happened? And it’s alright you three, come over here. I can help with those bruises.” She makes a deliberate effort to gentle her tone and project soothing, trustworthy vibes for the last part, holding out a hand in beckoning.

“They were burning them _alive_ at sundown. For their sun gods,” Calesco spits, pacing back and forwards, hands balled up. “Because they’d worshipped the moon. I heard them _screaming_. I was too slow! I couldn’t save four of them. They’d lined them up and these girls were on the outside of the fire and... and... and the others were in the centre and the smoke got them!”

“Oh, Calesco,” Keris murmurs, horrified. “Come here, all of you. You’re safe now, I promise,” she directs at the girls. “I can heal your burns and bruises, and I’ll protect you from anyone who tries to hurt you. And Calesco, come here, darling, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault, I promise; it’s theirs. You can’t be expected to be fast enough to save everyone.”

“Those yellow-robed priests won’t be burning anyone else,” Calesco says with a sort of grim satisfaction, beneath the simmering anger and the tears. “I’ve been talking to the girls... well, mostly Kashma, who’s in the best condition. The Illuminationists have been spreading from the west over the past few years. Things only got really bad here since Callibration. Kashma says a demon showed up and killed people, and the priests blamed the moon-demon for letting it in.”

“What exactly did you do?” Keris asks, refraining from pointing out that it sounds like another demon just showed up and killed people and that this probably won’t stop the town from burning more people in future. “What state is the town in?”

Calesco bites back what she had been about to say, showing white-jade teeth. “Everyone who took part in the burning is now dead. My arrows made sure of that. Everyone else, I showed them my light. They won’t be burning anyone else.”

Keris winces. Yeah, that... that’s probably a fair prediction. Unleashing her unfiltered light on a village is a vicious thing to do even by Calesco’s standards, and if she was so furious that it overcame her body issues Keris is pretty sure that seeing the place for herself would be a bad idea. She might do something unwise.

“And these three? Which one is Kashma, and who are the other two?” she asks.

The shortest of the three girls steps forwards, trying a crude curtsey. She wobbles, and Calesco - not much shorter than her - supports her. She can’t be older than fifteen, and she’s smaller than Keris. “I am, milady,” she says, voice hoarse from coughing. “This... this is Fatima,” a taller girl, with burns down her left side, “and this is my older sister Heba.”

Heba’s the worst off, and she’s half-carried by the other two. Her fingers have been broken, and Keris can recognise the signs of being stoned. She’s seen it done to people in Nexus.

“Come here, sweetheart,” she says softly. “Let me help you. I can fix you up and make it stop hurting.”

((How much of her power is Keris going to let show treating them? How slowly is she going to take it?))  
((She’s still a bit groggy from waking up and, uh, just botched temperance. So she’ll make full use of root-hair to fix them up quickly and rely on overwhelming charisma and innocence to keep them from freaking out about it - she’ll drop BOT if it looks like they’re starting to panic.))  
((Then Reaction + Occult, Diff 4, and Per + Pres, against MDV... uh, 2. They’re not in a good state.))

Keris gets to work, tackling Heba first and stimulating the girl’s natural painkillers before anything else. She sets Calesco to fretting over the other two, talking to them in low voices and reassuring them while Keris sets fingers and fixes fractures and cleans up bruises. By the time she thinks to hide her root-fingers it’s too late, so she meets the girl’s wide-eyed stare with some gentle questions on how she’s feeling and whether it hurts as much anymore.

((Healing: 5+5+2 stunt+4 Kimmy ExD=16.... 4 sux, yikes.  
Soothing: 4+5+2 stunt+3 Exotic Beauty=14. 6 sux. Much better.))

Keris gets more details than she wanted. Heba and Kashma are war orphans - “It happens”, the older girl, almost exactly the same age as her says with bleak acceptance - and the grandmother who had been looking after them died. There are no young men around - the war’s taken them - and their parents had been smallholders with barely enough land to sustain a family in good years. And there haven’t been good years in a long time. They’re all painfully thin, Fatima too. No wonder they’re closer in height to Keris - smaller than her, in the case of the sisters.

Yes, Heba admits, they gave prayers to the moon - because she remembers before the illuminationists moved in that was just what you did. You asked the moon for help.

“They’re wrong,” she says, coughing as Keris’ fingers trawl through her lungs, pulling out soot. “The moon isn’t a demon! It’s the eye of the night goddess!” She looks with awe at Calesco. “She’s the moon’s servant, isn’t she?” she whispers to Keris.

“The moon’s younger sister, actually,” Keris says before she can stop herself. It’s technically true, after all. She didn’t specify which moon.

Heba makes a shocked gesture, and then winces.

Keris has her own problems. The girls are in bad shape, and although Keris can treat the wounds, that’s all she’s done - splint broken bones and weave skin over burns. They’re not _healthy_ \- even Kashma is hurt, and Fatima is just staring ahead blankly; she might be in shock.

“What... urgh, dammit,” she curses, already having a feeling about where this is going to end up. “What do you girls want to do now? Do you have any plans, anywhere to go, anything you want?”

“I don’t know,” Kashma says slowly.

“I was going to get married,” Heba says, voice weak. “He was one of them. In the crowd. Fatima’s mother, too. Because she liked Ali and... and he’s dead now.” She grits her teeth. “I... maybe downstream. Maybe there’s a place that needs servants.”

Calesco is glaring at Keris. Keris closes her eyes wearily.

“Or,” she says, “you could come with me. And Calesco. I don’t... I don’t know _how_ I’d get you to where I live, yet, but it’s a very long way away from here, and it would be safe and you could learn a trade.”

“We’ll talk later,” Calesco says. “For now, call your anyaglo back. They’re so thin he won’t have problems carrying them and I think... I think they need dreamless sleep. You and I need to go back to the town to look for things, because I saw traces of red there.”

Keris shakes her head firmly. “ _You_ get to choose, first,” she tells Kashma and Heba. “If you want to stay in Taira I’ll try to make sure you’re safe and provided for. If you want to come with us, we’ll work it out. But it’s your decision. You’re free to pick.”

“And I’m saying they’re not in a fit state to agree to anything,” Calesco says, interposing herself between Keris and the girls. Her dark hair fans out protectively. “Their people - their _families_ \- tried to burn them alive a few hours ago. They’re not people to make a ‘deal’ with! Not now!”

Keris frowns. “It’s not a deal, Calesco; I’m not holding them to anything. If they change their minds later, they change their minds later and I’ll honour that. But I’m not going to take choices away from people who just had their lives taken away. When you’ve lost everything else, sometimes a choice is all you have _left_. _They_ get to decide what happens to them, and that starts now. If they don’t want to make a decision now or don’t feel up to it or want time to think, they can- _you_ can say that,” she corrects, turning to address Kashma and Heba instead of Calesco, “and we can put it off until later.”

“I just want to sleep,” Heba says woozily, at the same time as Kashma says “I think we should stay with the... the g-goddess.”

Keris nods. “Alright. Then you can tag along and sleep for now, and think on it some more when you feel better. Calesco, you watch over them while I go get our ride.”

It takes a bit of effort to track down the anyaglo, but once she does he is more than willing to accept the three thin girls on his back, licking them and holding them to him with his ribbons. They’re already asleep by the time Keris and Calesco set off on foot to the town.

“You weren’t there,” Calesco says bitterly. She’s dried her eyes and retreated from anger into a kind of cold hurt. She’s obviously been holding it in, not wanting to argue in front of the girls. “You said you’d come find me as soon as you summoned the demon. You didn’t come.”

“I’m sorry,” Keris whispers. “I was going to, but I collapsed. I asked him to lick me once we got to the town and found a place to sleep, but he did it straight away and I just... dropped.” She hangs her head. “If I’d been able to keep my eyes open, their friends would still be alive. I’m so sorry you had to see that, Calesco. I swear.”

That seems to give Calesco pause. “I... I hadn’t killed anyone before,” she says softly. “Not deliberately, at least. A... a few people died when I grew up from... from getting hurt because they were distracted by my light, but I never meant to. But I was so angry and it was their lives against the girls so I... I killed everyone who had a torch or who was in the yellow robes. It was only... only five or six, but it felt like more.”

She swallows. “It was so easy. I had the range. I didn’t even feel sad at the time. I just felt that they deserved it. I don’t even feel sad now. They did deserve it. But I feel sad that I don’t feel sad. I... I... I made Kuha sleep. So she wouldn’t see what I was doing with her body...”

“Come here,” Keris says simply, and pulls Calesco into her arms. She rocks her gently for a while, thinking.

“I... don’t really have that problem,” she admits. “I don’t even remember when I first killed someone. Well, no, that’s a lie. I remember the first person I _knew_ I killed. He was an older street rat who came after me and Rat for a slab of dried meat I’d stolen; enough to keep us fed for a week and a half. He was bigger and stronger and we couldn’t get away by climbing up the wall and he had Rat pinned and I rushed him with a knife to get him off and then he was dead. I was ten. But looking back, I was a vicious little thing, and it wasn’t the first time I fought someone or stabbed people with a knife or a sharpened nail over food or money for food or a warm place to sleep at night. Infection is easy on the streets. I doubt all of them survived.”

She sighs morosely. “After a while, death just became a thing that happened sometimes. But the first time always hurts. During it’s easy, but after, especially when you see the bodies lying still... it hurts.” Dropping a kiss onto Calesco’s temple, Keris hugs her closer. “You’re not even a year old yet, really. I wish you’d have been able to reach your birthday without anything like this. Hells, I wish you never had to kill anyone, ever, or see anything that made you angry or sad or upset. And I’m sorry that bringing you out here like this has thrown you into... into the ugly bits of Creation. If it helps you feel better, I think the fact that you’re upset about... about not being upset, is enough to make you a good person. Better than me. Or maybe just the best parts of me,” she adds with a slight smile.

“But I’m _glad_ I did it,” Calesco says, speaking into Keris’ chest. “Because if I hadn’t, those three would be dead. And dead horribly. If the fire hadn’t got them, the smoke would have. I wasn’t the one who put them there. B-but I don’t know if I want to be the sort of person who’s glad. But... but if I’d just been safe back home and hadn’t seen the ugliness, then you would still have collapsed and they’d all be dead.” She takes a deep breath. “I... I’m not you. I can’t just shout ‘look at me’ and get them all listening. There’s only a few things I’m good at. And...” she lets out a sob, “I wish I could do what Rathan does. Or Vali. He could’ve just run in and broken the stakes and punched people. I _can’t_. And... and I... I... I killed the people who did the burning so... so... so I wouldn’t have to feel their minds w-w-when I unveiled my light. Wh-what does that say about me?”

“That you’re not all-powerful,” hums Keris sympathetically. “That the world isn’t perfect. That neither are we. But Calesco, you _did_ help those girls. You’re allowed to be glad about that - as long as that’s what you’re glad about; that they’re safe now and they’ll heal and recover and not have to suffer. It’s okay for you to be happy you protected people, even if you bloodied your hands doing it. It’s clearly not the blood you’re pleased about. And maybe you killed the priests just so you didn’t have to feel them, but... I can’t blame you for that, darling. I wouldn’t want them in my mind either. And you didn’t kill them as horribly as they would have killed the girls, did you? You weren’t doing it to torture them, you were doing it to stop them hurting anyone else.”

Calesco takes a deep breath, and looks up at Keris. There’s a white glow in her eyes - not too bright, but still not comfortable to look at. “I’ve often wondered why you made your love, your charity and your empathy into me,” she says softly. “Why you think of such things as linked to... to Adorjan. I think I understand better. I... I think I tell you you’re doing the wrong thing too much. I need to tell you to do the right thing more. The war here in Taira, the things in Saata... no. They don’t _get_ to stand unchallenged.”

Keris nods slowly. “You know I can’t get too involved here, right?” she asks, almost apologetic. “I wish I could, but this war, this _mess_ , would take years to sort out. Decades, maybe. I can fix the Southwest, and I will, but I can’t juggle two empires on opposite sides of Creation.”

“I don’t expect an empire here,” Calesco says, as they approach the town. “But I will _not_ let things like this happen. Not when I have my bow. And if you want to stop me, you’ll have to jam me back into your head.”

Calesco’s shadow rises up, wrapping her up in the form of a male merchant like the ones Keris saw plenty of in Terema. “Let’s look around here and get out quickly,” she says.

((Calesco wants to just make the Survival rolls for Cog + Survival <+1 autosuccess> at Diff 4, but Keris can choose to instead look more closely and make as well a Reaction + Investigation roll at Diff 2.))  
((Hmm. I think... Keris will cede to Calesco on this occasion and let her hurry things. Can she make the second roll at increased Difficulty if she’s going at Calesco’s pace?))  
((Yes, increase to Diff 3.))

Keris isn’t in the mood to linger in a town marked by Calesco’s first kills. She lets her daughter hurry them through the small settlement looking for traces of the bloodtrail, and does her best to keep her ears closed to the marks that a furious demon lord’s light has left on it.

She doesn’t quite succeed.

((Trail-finding: 4+3+2 stunt+5 MDB sux+1 Calesco sux=9. 4+6=10 sux.  
Investigation: 5+1+2 stunt+2 Coadj=10. 3 sux, just scraped it.))

Keris finds out more about the town than she really wanted. She notices the still-smouldering piles of icons for other gods - even things like the little carved bricks like the one Zany had which she said was her hearth god’s shrine. Of course, those hearth shrines didn’t burn, so they’ve been smashed. There used to be ironwork icons in the square, but they’ve been torn down - and Keris can just about see the remnants of a mural under the whitewash that’s been thrown over it.

And painted on the whitewash, a symbol. A symbol Keris feels is very, very familiar. A sun with rays coming out of it. A solid disk. Something that looks like a smiling face. An empty ring And in the centre of the four, arranged in a quincunx-shape, is a circle with a dot in the middle.

She can basically read the story here, in the fact that even the corpses of the priests in the square are thin. Everyone here is starving and on edge because of a demon at Calibration. It’s winter - there’s not going to be crops for seasons. The priests get it in their heads - or maybe push their message - that other gods were to blame.

Their targets? People who they think were linked to the demon - and the people they think are hungry orphans, who already probably live on the village’s charity when everyone is starving.

It’s a relief when she finds the red thread - and it doesn’t lead along the river. There’s an old road here. A really old one, made of reddish-brown glass and which Keris can still feel the faded power in. It leads up into the mountains.

Keris heads on and upwards without mentioning her conclusions to Calesco, the anyaglo with his precious, sleeping cargo rejoining them once they’re out of the village. She leave them with Calesco in a more out-of-the-way spot and head back to pick up Rathan and Oula and Xasan tomorrow, but for now they still have some time before dawn. And the glass road is plucking at memories.

“A glass road...” she murmurs. “Like the one that Xasan said leads to Harborhead. Could this be the one he meant? Or a tributary?” Her mouth twists. “I’m going and getting the others tomorrow. I want him to see this.”

“I don’t think so,” Calesco says, after some thought. “I think Xasan said that the Great Road was more to the south, and this one is headed north. But maybe it’s the same - maybe in the olden days, they built these roads so people had a fast way through the mountains.” She points at it. “Look! Look how the snow isn’t even settling on it. I don’t think people are clearing it.”

She scoops up a handful and throws it onto the glass. It slides right off, like oil on water.

That’s super cool, Eko opines in Keris’ head. Mama needs to learn glassblowing.

“That’s... really cool,” Keris admits, curiosity caught for a moment. “Do you think I can break off a few bits from the side to look at later? I wouldn’t need much; just some chips to boil down alchemically. And then maybe I could work out how to make my own.” Her fingers twitch in the air, seeking her Lance.

Calesco rolls her eyes. “Well, it is broken up,” she says. “If you find a bit that’s already broken, I can’t see the harm in it.”

Keris grins happily, and they set off.

“This is really cool,” Keris opines a little later, lifting up a shattered bit of road she’s found. It’s almost about the shape and size of a shield.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Calesco says dryly.

“No, I mean, it’s freezing cold.” Keris blows on her hands. “But still, this chunk’ll work well.”

Keris is very glad she’s her and her companions are a flying horse and a flying girl. It’d be awful travelling this on foot, even with the magic road covering parts of the way. It’d make her travel downriver with the Baishans look easy.

There’s another town up ahead as dawn approaches. They’re up in the mountains proper now, and the snow is taller than Keris around some parts of the road. Keris is feeling cold, and Calesco is swaying on her feet - or rather Kuha’s feet. With a wince, Keris suddenly realises that the two minds in Kuha might be alternating sleeping, but her body still needs to rest. And Calesco hasn’t even sat down since her fight.

“Here,” she says practically. “Hop into my hair. I can carry you the rest of the way. You need to rest, and you’ll be warmer there. I’ll get you to the town, check it’s not as horrible as the last one, and if it’s okay to stay in I’ll leave you and the girls to rest while I go bring up the others.”

Calesco’s too tired - and too cold - to even protest much. “I want to stay out until,” she yawns, “until at least we get back to the South West. I want to see somewhere that isn’t so cold. It might be okay for Rathan. Not me.” She yawns again. “You can’t see it, but all my feathers are fluffed up. It’s really uncomfortable.”

Keris smiles fondly. “I’ll bring you back there just in time for the start of summer,” she promises. “It’ll be so hot you’ll be begging me to build you an ice hut to cool down in.” She curls her hair securely around the tiny form - small both above and under the lies. “But for now, rest.”

“How’re you going to handle... Voriny?” Calesco’s voice says. “They might be scared of him here, but he can’t vanish or he’ll drop the girls.”

Keris purses her lips. “I’m going to have him wait outside the town while we go look for a room, and then smuggle them in myself,” she says. “Won’t be the first time I’ve done something like it.”

It’s no problem for Keris to get in, but there’s one thing she notices - the same quincunx icon is there, painted on the walls. Awkwardly, she brushes her own brow, where unseen one of the five symbols that makes up the quincunx sits.

((By the way, quincunx is the formal name for ‘shaped like the 5 on a dice’.))

Her mouth flattens out, and this, at least, she probably point out to Calesco to forestall any explosions.

“Sweetheart,” she nudges, rousing her daughter from the swiftly-deepening doze. “Look. There are sun-priests here, too. But I don’t see any pyres, so I’m giving them the benefit of the doubt and assuming they’re not like the men who lit those bonfires down the mountainside. That said, I’m leaving a Gale just in case, okay? And that means you and the girls can sleep while she takes watch.”

“I’ll keep Voriny near so we can run away,” Calesco promises.

Keris finds a small waystation on the edge of town that seems to expect cold travellers to wander in - though not at dawn. They accept her story about bad maps meaning she underestimated how far it is, and her money is willingly accepted for her and her daughter, especially once she gets to haggling.

It’s just after dawn on the third when Keris is off again, running back down the road and backtracking to the river. Without other people slowing her down, she’s at the river in barely over an hour, and then she only gets faster when she gets to water.

All in all, she’s back in Ran in time for breakfast. In fact, she’s back before Rathan and Oula are out of bed. Because it’s the same bed. Once again, she’s snuggled up tight to him, fully dressed.

It’s almost a pity to have to gently shake them awake. “We’ve made progress,” she says as Oula blinks at her blearily. “We’ll move out once you’re up. You don’t need to rush, but don’t dawdle either.”

Once people are up and dressed and Keris is down somewhere _actually warm_ eating breakfast in front of the fire, she tells them what they’ve found.

“Yes, Calesco’s right,” Xasan says, biting into a fried ball of dough and rice. “There’s little glass roads all throughout the mountains, both here in Taira and back home. They don’t get dirty, no matter what. How wide was the one you found?” Keris tells him, perhaps wide enough for two carts to pass side by side. “Well, that’s one of the small ones. The Great Road is a whole different thing. It’s as wide as a field, or more so.”

“Well, I got a chunk of it from where it was broken,” she smiles, still happy about that. “So I can break that down alchemically when we’re back in Saata and see if I can figure out how to make the stuff myself. Oh, and, uh... we picked up three girls. Calesco rescued them from being burnt to death by sun-priests. Don’t bring it up to her, but it looks like they’ll be tagging along, at least until they heal.”

Xasan grunts. “Maryam did say you found strays and baby mice and brought them home with you,” he says.

“Their families tried to burn them to death!” Keris protests. “I couldn’t just _not heal them_. And Piu had pneumonia when I found her in Nexus, and Kuha was... look, shut up. I gave them a choice and they wanted to stay with Calesco until they felt well enough to decide properly.”

Aleph: ((oh keris <3))

“So where are you taking us this time?” Oula asks. “Another town like this one? Or will we be riding with you? I notice you didn’t bring another anyaglo back.”

“He’s staying close to Calesco and the girls,” Keris explains. “The village they’re in has sun-priests as well, and I’m not sure I trust them after hearing how the last ones tried to burn half a dozen war orphans to death. We can take the whole day getting there and have a couple of rest stops for the horses - and I can carry more, since I know where we’re going and don’t need to be looking for the trail.”

“Well,” Rathan says, with an elegant yawn, “I suppose I’ll go handle the bill, Mama, while all you can do the heavy lifting. I’ll need some money, though not as much as they think they want us to pay right now.”

((Rathan compels Keris’ greed to avoid doing manual labour))

Grumbling, Keris forks it over, though she’s placated somewhat by the reduced amount she has to pay.

They head out after Rathan swans his way into not paying anything, handing Keris all her money back - bar a ‘transactional fee’ he just made up - with a smug look on his face. It takes a while to get out of Ran, but once they’re out of it things speed up considerably.

It’s just as well. Dark clouds are coming down from the north, and the air smells like snow. The snow hits before they even get to the little town where the path diverges, filling the air with falling white. And also Xasan’s cursing at the snow.

The anyaglos help somewhat, in that they at least don’t have to walk _on_ the snow, and Keris’s balance is as perfect as ever as she keeps running. The landscape becomes a confused painting of white on white, though at least that makes the red tendons of the bloodtrail stand out more where they lie.  Fortunately, Keris is there to follow the river, and that means she doesn’t miss the town or the turning back up the mountains. The road is a god-send, because it’s a little glass streak in the landscape that she can follow.

She feels something slither up over her hair and Kerisa’s inverted mask appears in her field of vision. “Where are we now?” the ghost demands. “You woke me up! And it’s snowing! It’s as dark as night even though it’s the day.”

“We’re heading into the mountains through a chain of villages,” Keris explains. “We should be at the one we’re going to soon, and you can have a look around at the people in it. Until then... well, you’re the only one here not getting snowed on, at least.”

Kerisa blows a raspberry at her and makes a bored noise. “Well, I’m going to go back to sleep again,” she declares, crawling back over the top of Keris’ hair back into her box. “Wake me up if you find something fun!”

Things are slowed down by the snow and Keris’ requirement to actually navigate in it, but it’s just about lunchtime when they get to the small village they left Calesco-Kuha and the girls in. Hands in his pockets, Rathan approaches the young mother behind the bar at the waystation and starts chatting to her - clearly aiming to barter down the price - which brings a blush to her cheeks.

Keris can hear Oula’s teeth grinding.

“Calm,” she says quietly. “He’s talking to her. He rides with you. And eats with you, and... sleeps with you.” The fact that the sleeping is so innocent and so _cute_ means Keris barely even winces as she says it. “All she’s getting is a look at the boy who’s going to come back to _you_ as soon as he’s got some food. Focus on that.”

Oula sighs, adjusting the dark glasses she wears that cover her silver pupils. “He _keeps on_ talking to other girls,” she complains to Keris, cutely gloved hands balled into fists. “And they _blush_ and they touch his hands and she’s too old for him but she’s still leaning in. It’s _disgusting_. And boys do it too!” she adds.

“I know,” Keris nods. “But they’re the ones who should be envious, because there are only two girls... okay, five and a half girls who really matter in his life right now, and they’re his sisters, his mother, and you. And his sisters mostly matter in the sense of arguing with them or complaining about them.”

“But does he know that?” she whines. “And then there’s all the girls and boys back home and they’re probably going to grow up like me and then they’re all going to offer him their hearts too and... and I’ll kill them! I got him first! I’m _his_. He doesn’t get to have anyone else!”

Keris frowns minutely. “You can’t kill everyone else in his life,” she points out. “One, that’ll hurt him, and two, it’ll scare him away from you. But he’s already listening to you, and he’s already starting to care about you. You’re first, and you’re important - and he does know that, or will - so if you ask him to stay true to you, he will. You’re true to him, so it’s fair that way.”

Rathan steps away from the bar, and Oula’s face goes straight from the sullen, sulky expression she has to a placid, warm smile. She springs up to him, latching onto his arm. “Did it go well?” she asks.

“I could probably have argued her lower,” he tells her and Keris, “but they’re not like that restaurant back in Ran. I don’t mind paying something.” He smiles. “Well, you paying something,” he tells Keris.

Keris grumbles sullenly, but nods.

They head up to the room they left Calesco and the girls in. They’re all still asleep - Kuha from how hard they’ve been pushing the shared body; the girls... well, it’s probably for the best. Kuha stirs as Keris comes in. “Wha... Kerishyra?” she asks.

“It’s me,” Keris confirms, reabsorbing the Gale she’d left on watch. “Xasan and the kids are here. Go back to sleep.”

Kuha wriggles. “Mmm,” she says, blushing faintly. “‘Lesco’s in my dreams. She’s really pretty.” She curls up on her side - since it seems the wings are giving her problems lying on her back - and closes her eyes again.

Keris opens her mouth, considers that for a few moments, and closes it again. She doesn’t want to know. She’ll... she’ll summon another anyaglo tonight, since they still need another steed to share the packs, and then just... get on with things. And hope she doesn’t pick up any more strays.

Her attempts to head out are slowed down by just how exhausted Kuha is. Much to her disgust, this is an enforced rest day for everyone. She keeps on forgetting that it’s only Eko who rests on the run like she does. Calesco needs sleep unlike her sister and mother.

So, because it’s that or go crazy, Dulmea suggests that Keris take on a disguise and go ask some questions about the quincunx symbol of caste marks they see here. Already twitchy at the thought of spending another day sitting around in that damn room - and yes, okay, it was her Gale and not her but she still remembers it - Keris heads out immediately, shadow-guising herself as rather plainer and more native-Tairan than she actually is in order to go talk a few people into giving her explanations.

The information she gathers is... puzzling, and more than a little alarming. With some of Rathan’s powers, no one minds her ‘just asking questions’ about things other people already know, and so she gets a few interesting conversations in.

The way they tell it here, the illuminationists are a reversion to the old religious ways, back in the time of the first shahs. Keris creeps into the midday temple worship, and she hears the yellow-robed priests preaching about Taira was corrupted by the Perswhan moon-worshippers from the south, and the shahs fell into corruption and decadence.

But the strange thing is how... Immaculate the illuminationist doctrine is. They ban images of the sun gods and goddesses, with the five marks the only way to represent them. And the suns are the only real gods and the moon is a demon who tries to control the night sky which is the Night Sun’s domain. People aren’t meant to worship lesser spirits except with the priests, and there they’re asking the suns to order the spirits to do things.

And there’s more. The yellow-robed priests are teaching that the chosen of the suns have returned, and that they’re going to end the civil war, drive out the demons, and protect everyone from the corrupt Realm who worship dragons. That’s why people need to watch and wait to find them, because the war won’t end until a sun-child rules over Taira once more.

The whole cult is basically ripe for a Solar to take it over, Keris concludes, and add another faction to the war. And she met two Sun-chosen back in Nexus. It can’t be long until another one finds this place. Best to not be here when it happens.

Also best not to be discovered, because she really doubts these Illuminationists will take kindly to a chosen of Hell, and a massacre is the last thing she needs right now.

Once everyone has slept a full day and recovered some of their strength, Keris chivvies them onward again, with a new steed bearing some of the weight. She does remember to insist that Calesco-Kuha take some time riding instead of flying, this time; conscious of her daughter’s relative lack of endurance. The bloodtrail they follow stretches further and further up into the mountains, forcing thicker, warmer clothes for everyone and - frustratingly - more frequent stops to rest and huddle around campfires.

The fourth passes. So does the fifth. It’s late on the sixth when Keris finds the true wonder of the path they’re following; a great tunnel that cuts through a mountain, walled with glass and fortified off at the near end. The sandstone so common to Tairan fortifications looks out of place and ugly when the mountainside behind it - covered in exquisite glass statues made of the same things as the road - is taken into consideration.

“I don’t recognise the flag,” Xasan says. “It’s not one of the flags of the major powers. Some minor naib, or just bandits. The line isn’t thick.”

“It’s beautiful,” says Keris wonderingly, her eyes tracing over the statues and the glass walls of the tunnel holding up the innards of a mountain. “Gorgeous, beautiful... makers, I’m really gonna have to work out how to make this stuff on my- right, the fort. Sorry.” She frowns, and repeats her headcount. Rathan and Oula, Xasan, Calesco-Kuha, their three strays, four mounts, herself...

“Sneaking past might be tricky,” she admits with a grimace. “It covers the tunnel entrance pretty well. Calesco, gimme a second opinion on the trail?”

She gestures towards the doors. “My guess is that the shahs built that place so they could tax people going through it,” she says morosely. “The line goes through it. Maybe they still controlled it back then, or maybe these people accept pay too. It could just be a fortified town.”

Keris’s lip curls. “Fine. Okay, you three and the girls strike camp here. Calesco and I will throw on some disguises and sneak in to confirm. Maybe we can slip through in the night or go around the mountain or something.”

Keris and Calesco sneak in, but the people in there are tired, cold, and don’t provide any helpful information on who they work for that could confirm Xasan’s idea about what the plain red flag they’re flying actually means. It could be just a war flag, or it could mean something else.

Still, there are big gates at the entrance to the fort, with cunning mechanisms that mean that tens of men or a few beasts pushing it can open them - and which Keris thinks are designed to slam the gates shut on their own. Maybe they tax people coming through, maybe they don’t. The tunnel going through the mountain looks like it has a similar fortress at the other end, but that gate’s been broken and bricked up.

Returning in a more cheerful mood, Keris shoos everyone back onto the horses and wraps them up tight - she’s fixed the direction of the tunnel in her head and there’s no point in going through two fortresses when they can just swing over the mountain by air instead. She keeps them clustered together as they make the trip, numbers providing something of a shield against the high winds.

The mountains are freezing, covered in snow and ice. There’s more strange glass things up here, protruding from the snow - but there’s no time to pick them up. Keris has to basically latch onto the anyaglos with her hair and pull them bodily by the end.

Up here, there’s wild elementals she’s never seen before - ice apes with crystalline fur and leopards whose roar is the rumbling of the avalanche. She has to run from some of those ice apes when they start throwing icicles at the intruders on their domain.

By the end of it, everyone is hurting and exhausted, and Keris’ hair is sprained and limp. They collapse down in an abandoned, half-collapsed shepherd’s hut and count their bruises while trying desperately to get warm.

“You know,” Rathan says, who’s disgustingly unaffected by the cold, “maybe we should have just paid them to let us through.”

“These mountains are crawling with Illuminationists,” Keris says flatly. “They’re against anything that isn’t sun-god-based, the anyaglos kind of stick out, and the girls still can’t walk very far on their own. And I really didn’t want to have to...” She winces suddenly, baring her teeth as a pang of discomfort ricochets through her abdomen. Not a kick, but something baby-related. Maybe one of them is pressing on her organs again. “... to... fight off a whole town. Urgh.”

“I didn’t see any of their symbols in there,” Calesco mutters, trying to get the ice out of her hair and wings. “I hate hate hate the cold.”

“I think we simply have to push on,” Rathan says. “We’re too exposed out here. And I don’t want any of those ice ape things following us or dropping an avalanche on our heads.”

“You’re right,” Keris mutters, going her best to cover up the part of her that thinks maybe this was a bad idea after all. “One more push, darlings. Then you can take another rest day and warm back up.”

The next mountain town is a welcome relief, especially as the sun is going down, and Keris all but blasts the wayhouse owner with her Rathan-given powers to let them in.

Everyone is suffering and miserable, and even their meal of spiced sausage soup and boiled dumplings leaves them feeling cold. The Tairan girls with them are freezing and maybe regretting going with them. Keris does her best to pamper them in apology, and commandeers the kitchen to make some after-dinner treats with Haneylian skill. The discomfort from earlier is still there, rising and falling as she moves around to get comfortable, and more than a few annoyed comments get directed at the babies for not moving into a more comfortable position. She hears some silent giggles from Eko inside her head, but when she tries to get the little brat to tell her what’s going on she’s not there anymore. She’s probably feeling neglected and wants to go back and stab some ice apes.

Keris heads to bed, aching and sore with her hair hurting like it’s never hurt before. It’s like she sprained a muscle in her scalp, and maybe she did. It feels awful and she wants a hot bath but of course this place has - at best - heating water in kettles and filling a wooden tub.

Her dreams find her in the Edgelands, cold fog and warped buildings stretching out as far as the eye can see. Which is further than it did before. She’s in touch with her po now. The fog is like glass to her.

She wanders, wincing and quietly frustrated. Chronic pain is something she’s forgotten how to deal with in her new life, and she doesn’t like it now that it’s come back. She avoids the settlements, though. She’s not in the mood to talk to her citizens.

There’s blood, oozing and pooling on the ground in little streams. That might mean she’s near the Ruin, right? Although Eko usually keeps the blood closer to the City.

A hissing, echoing call sounds out and Keris straightens up immediately, on edge. It’s her po, somewhere nearby, and it sounds in pain.

Hissing curses, she starts to run towards it - and immediately slows to a limp when her legs inform her they’re not having any of it. It’s as fast a limp as she can manage, though. Anything that can hurt Pekhijira is _dangerous_ ; even she’s consistently failed at it. If it’s in pain, she needs to help.

The great feathered serpent is the source of the blood. It lies on top of a now-crushed building, oozing blood and it’s panting in great wailing noises that make the ground shake.

“Hey,” Keris says - and then repeats at a louder volume to be heard over its moans. “Hey, come on, what’s wrong? Let me...” she scrambles up a collapsed wall, “help...” across the demolished remains of a roof, “... you...”

Her hand makes contact with its face, and it seems to realise she’s there.  The long tongue - more cat-like than snake-like, in many ways - weakly licks Keris’ face. From this perspective, Keris can see that the snake is bulging at the... the mid-section. And, she realises, was also doing it that last time they met.

She was right about what she said to Dulmea. It... _she’s_ a girl-snake. Because she’s Keris, too. And that means the snake is... is a girl. Who is giving birth. And. Um. Oh.

Keris looks down. Her pregnancy when dreaming is always a bit indeterminate - sometimes she is, sometimes she isn’t, and sometimes the dream shifts halfway through. At the moment she is; part of why her legs are firmly insisting they take a day off, and... um... yes, now that she’s concentrating there’s a bit of blood there as well.

Oh. That ache earlier wasn’t... it was... and she’s been in...

... well then.

“Just,” she pants, letting herself fall forward and use Pekhijira’s bulk as support. “Just hang on... get through this. Sasi said... easy for her. Just hold onto me... I’ll hold onto you...” She winces as another wave of discomfort-ache-pressure - another _contraction_ , hellsdammit, how did she miss this? “Don’t... let it... _shit!_ ”

She holds on to Penkhjira. The snake holds on back. They both pant. They breathe together.

And at some point, Keris realises she’s having problems telling where one of their bodies starts and the other ends. Her hun blends into her po, her po blends into her hun. Her dreams blend into reality, too, and the waking world intrudes on the dream. Some part of her sees white fog and ruined buildings. The rest sees the too-cramped room of the wayhouse, four sleeping human bodies, three demons looking panicky about something, something close, something that must be dangerous, but she can’t see anything dangerous, only the sleeping humans and the frightened demons and... and... and...

... and a window.

Can’t be trapped. No. Can’t be trapped. If she’s trapped, she won’t be able to get out.

Unfolding, uncoiling, Keris rears up and smashes her way out, slithering out through the hole in the wall she left.

It’s snowing outside, and it’s unfamiliar territory. She doesn’t feel safe. She barely knows where she is. She hisses to herself as she moves, white hair lashing around her - white? No, her hair is... but it’s white, white must be right because that’s what it is. And hurts hurts _hurts_ , she needs a place... a place to go, to retreat to, somewhere safe. Safe safe safe. She needs somewhere safe. The snowstorm is almost right but not quite; she can’t hide here, not properly.

A frozen river offers her a glimpse at her reflection, and it’s shocking enough to give her pause as she takes it in.

((Lawl, she was wearing mundane clothing when she transformed. Oops.))

She looks... she looks different. Strange. Not-right... but proper-as-it-should-be as well. She’s bigger - much bigger; as big as sand-shadows-crystal-glass-lovelovelove, or even metal-fire-anger-ocean-jealousy. Her hair is white, her features sharp and feral and bestial, her furs and undershirts tattered and torn from around her from her growth. Her baby bump is still there, the babies are still safe-good-warm-alive-loved, but below it...

... below it is Pekhijira. Long sinuous coils, razor-feathered and silver. She’s... she’s... she can’t bring the length-words to mind but she remembers the eight-legs-riding-ribbon-runners, and she must be as long as at least five of them, if not six.

It feels natural. It feels right. She can move effortlessly through the snow; her powerful coils carrying her faster and surer than her legs ever could, without a hint of hesitation or uncertainty. She knows this body. She knows how to use it, from instinct deeper than thought. It’s _hers_.

She’s admiring herself for long enough that the ice-moon and the light-in-darkness can catch up with her. She can hear their tiredness, their just-woken-upness.

“What did you do, Keris?” demands the light-in-darkness. “Why did you go crazy like that?”

She hisses fiercely at it, then keens and doubles over as she hurtshurtshurts again. Her coils spasm as she rolls over, thrashing, trying to get them the babies the right way round inside her to come out.

“Oh. Oh no,” says the girl. She’s forgotten which one is which in the pain, but there’s definitely a girl and a boy. “I think she’s giving birth.”

“... oh. Um. As a snake lady?” asks the boy. He sounds squeamish at the thought. “How does that work?”

“You’re older than me! You had more time to learn!”

“Yes, but you’re a girl!”

“So?”

“... don’t girls just... know how it works?”

The girl sighs. “And you’re an idiot. Okay. Okay. Let’s think. You... you just start hugging her and calm her down. She likes your hugs. I’ll... I’ll try to find where they’re meant to come out. It’s nearly dawn so at least we’ll have some light. Actually, maybe we should try to move her to somewhere warmer?”

She tries to voice approval of this plan, and it comes out in a scream instead. Her thrashing tail turns a nearby tree into a stump and shreds most of the log as it falls. But then ice-moon-sweet-blameless-vengeful-fair is hugging the bits of her without feathers, and she does her best to hug back - or cling, with her hair and her arms and nearly her coils before she remembers they’d hurt him and shifts them back.

“Mother, this would be a lot _easier_ if you’d stop _moving_ ,” says the girl nonsensically.

There are things wriggling and moving inside her, along with the waves of pain, and they’re moving and sliding and oh gods why does it hurt like this, she remembers someone said that things were much easier than human children but this really isn’t easy at all. But ice-moon-sweetness-blameless is there, wrapping red hair around her and darkness-soft-sharp-light is there and together they manage to drag her somewhere and darkness-soft-sharp-light gets a fire started with the long-needled pines that she accidentally knocked down.

“All right, in future, you’re forbidden from having babies when Haneyl isn’t around to help,” she says without making any sense. “She’s the only one of us who knows anything about medicine.”

She hisses something sharp and sour at the tone, letting the words wash over her, and accepts a handful of ice chips from ice-moon-sweetness-blameless. They wash the taste of blood out of her mouth and sooth her parched throat, even as the rest of her warms up. Her long, pretty body coils tight around the fight, shuddering and groaning as she tries to focus on the fire-plant-greedy-hungry-wanting roots inside her and make them shift the babies around to where they should be. Her belly is clenching without her say-so, muscles locking down and stopping her with every wave of pain as they squeeze and push, and if she just gets the babies the right way round the squeezing won’t need to happen and it’ll stop hurting and she can _rest_...

There’s a light in the sky. The sun is rising in the east. Things slot into place just right. There’s a push, another push, a groaning scream and a last wave, and things are suddenly easier. The girl and the boy make noises. She doesn’t even register what they are. A tiny-fragile-vulnerable-warm-wet weight gets put on her chest and her arms come up around it as she bears down again, pushes, _pushes_...

... and then there’s a very final push, and a feeling of emptiness and _relief_ like nothing she’s ever felt before, and another small-soft-bloody-wailing-precious-frail bundle is delivered into her arms. And the pain is already a distant memory because these two little warm wet wailing things are hers and they’re helpless and so so little and she loves them, she loves them she loves them she _loves them_ with an intensity that’s so strong it’s painful and so big it blots out the sky.

“So, uh, that happened,” the boy - Rathan - says. “We probably need to get her and the babies out of the cold.”

“She’s a snake lady and she smashed her way out of the place we were staying,” Calesco retorts. “How do we explain that?”

“How do I explain it? Or mama, I guess,” Rathan says calmly. “Well, I just explain it.”

“You’re such a cheat,” Calesco grumbles, but it’s force of habit. “So, mama? Want to introduce us to our new little brother and sister?”

Keris - she remembers her name now, though other words are still hard - just hisses happily. She coils around her cute little babies and delicately starts to clean the blood and amniotic fluid away from them. They’re not human - she can tell that already - but she knew they wouldn’t be. They cling as much to each other as her on her chest, and their thin little cries echo out across the landscape as night becomes day.

They’re _perfect_.


	2. Chapter 2

Snow drifts down from on high. It lands upon the silver streaked blood pooling on the ground, and the naked monstrous snake-woman with two newborns lying on her chest.

The sun is rising.

Slowly, Keris takes in the little blood-coated bundles on her chest. They’re still covered in gore and strange hellish residues and silver streaks and all the other things which mark their unnatural birth, but she tries to focus on them and take them in.

((Baby describy time for you))  
((It’s just past dawn on the 7th, incidentally - the tunnel and mountain were the night of the 6th.))  
((Yes, I know))

It’s easier to hear and feel and smell them than see them. To her eyes, they’re just blurry blobs of blood-and-silver topped with red and white. But her hypersensitive skin can feel that one of them - the boy on her left breast - is heavier by about a quarter than his sister. He’s a strange little thing, all covered in silvery-white fur beneath the fluid. He doesn’t have legs that she can feel, just a mass of prehensile tails that merge together into his hips. She counts seven shifting against each other and dragging across her skin, and soaked as they are she can feel the corded muscle at their core instead of the fluff that they’ll undoubtedly sprout when dry.

Her other child... oh, there she goes again. She _had_ been a little girl when she came out, and Keris had felt her hair moving as well, clinging to her brother’s. Then one of his tails had brushed against her leg, and with a squeak she’d been replaced by a soaked and peeping chick. Some sort of bird of prey, as far as Keris could tell - though she’d heard four stubby wings shifting in the drenched down feathers, not two. Now, however, she’s changed again - with another squeak of surprise - and a little red-and-gold-striped kitten clings to Keris’s breast with five legs; the sixth pawing at her brother. Both short tails are lashing industriously as she mewls.

Crooning softly at them and cradling them in arms and hair, Keris does her best to clean their faces off so their eyes can open. One pair silver - the boy. The other pair; his sister’s - gold. They look up at her in a bleary, confused, objectionable way as if it were _her_ fault they’d suddenly been forced out of the warm soft safe place they’d been, then turn to each other as one.

Calesco clears her throat. ”How about you _stop_ being a snake lady so we can get you and the babies out of the snow?” she suggests.

“I’m all in favour of that,” Rathan says. ”I’m exhausted. Of all the things I wanted to do with my life, being a midwife wasn’t one of them. So... uh, regrow your legs and stop being white haired and we can get you and little... what _are_ their names?”

Keris hisses, frowns and hisses again before managing words.

“Sssa- ah. Ah. Na... namesss.” She rolls that around her mouth for a moment. Her teeth are shaped differently, and she’s pretty sure she can unhinge her jaw now to bite impossibly wide. Not that she can’t always do that, but now her mouth is naturally designed to, and it makes talking feel different. “Their names... their names are...” She looks down at the little girl-kitten, who’s now examining her paw and appears to be concentrating intently. After a stretched-out moment and a steadily-rising mewl, she careens over some internal tipping point and all but audibly pops back into her little girl form; eyes wide and dazed by the sudden transition.

“... Kali,” Keris decides, as her brother nudges over to awkwardly flail a hand at her face. Keris shifts him on her chest to help him clumsily pat Kali’s cheek. “And Ogin.”

“Keris!” Calesco is being shouty for some reason and Keris isn’t sure why. ”Stop being a snake! It’s very selfish of you to keep the babies out in the cold! It’s literally freezing out here!”

With a hiss, Keris cradles her babies closer, swaddling them in arms and hair and what remnants of clothes she has. Then she closes her eyes and concentrates.

She is Keris, she is Pekhijira, she is her hun, she is her po, she is human, she is serpent, she is one, she is two, she is together as she should be...

... but she’s been so long enough. Now she needs to be separate again.

There’s a feeling of shrinking, of shedding, of release and sanity and loss.

Keris cracks an eye open, feeling the snow on her bare soles. Legs, check. Feet, check. Arms, check. Hair, check. Snake coils, no. Feathers... only in her hair.

Human again.

“I told you it would work,” Calesco says smugly to Rathan.

“There’s no need to be smug about it.” Rathan reaches out, petting the boy. ”Now, does it hurt, mama? You don’t seem to be bleeding and Calesco says everything closed up and... uh...”

“Speaking as a girl, everything looks about what it should be,” Calesco confirms. ”I mean, the hole’s gone back to the normal size. It’s really strange that two baby heads fit out of there. But I’m not an apothecary. Haneyl’s the only one who really knows medicine among us.”

“I feel fine,” croaks Keris, cradling the two little bundles. Being swaddled has made their wails stop, though they’re starting to fuss again... ah, they’re reaching for each other. She moves them together and melts a little inside as they reach out and intertwine their hair, resting their little heads against each other from their respective hair-cocoons. “Which one is older? I was so out of it I could barely tell you two apart, let alone them.”

“The girl’s older,” Calesco says.

At exactly the same time, Rathan says, “The boy’s the older one.”

Keris stares. Then glares, as she starts trudging through the snow back towards the wayhouse. “No, really. Which one?”

“The girl’s older,” says Rathan.

“The boy came out first,” Calesco counters.

Now Keris is really glaring. “Hah hah, very funny. Now give me an honest answer.” If only she could spot lies like Sasi!

“The honest answer,” Calesco says snippily, “is that you forced your two children to play midwife and deal with you thrashing that horrible deadly tail all over the place out in the cold for hours.”

“So we’re not telling,” Rathan says. ”Plus, when it comes down to it, there’s no good reason for you to know. You’d just treat them differently and that’s not fair. And Haneyl wouldn’t be such a pain in the butt if she didn’t _know_ she’s my baby sister. So really, we’re doing you a favour by not telling you.”

“I- you-” Keris sputters. Unfortunately, the trip back to town proves that no amount of Maternal Glaring or Irate Parent Voice is enough to get them to crack. For once, Rathan and Calesco are a solid, united block.

Grumbling, Keris gives up halfway there and concentrates on keeping her children warm, quiet and - after they start fussing for something other than cuddles - fed.

Rathan flicks his hair back, and puffs out his chest. ”Well, now that you ladies can keep on doing the lady business, I’ll just have to make sure none of the local peasants have got confused by a snake breaking out of the place and started suspecting our friends of witchcraft or something.”

“They better not have,” Calesco says in a low voice. ”I’m in a very bad mood, I’m cold, and I’m not going to let some religious fanatics who think there are five sun gods hurt anyone I care about. Uh... just in case Rathan needs to talk people into things, what kind of supplies do newborns need?” She folds her arms. ”This is the sort of thing you were meant to research beforehand, you know!”

Keris thinks. Luckily, Sasi _did_ talk - quite a lot - about Aiko’s early development. “They’re Exalted children, so they’re less helpless than a mortal’s newborn - Sasi called it a trade-off for having to spend longer all fat and bloated,” she says slowly. “Aiko could sit up and get around a bit on her own almost immediately, instead of just lying there and screaming all the time. They’ll need... I think they’ll still be drinking milk for a while, so we won’t need to feed them.” She nods downward, where both children have reattached themselves to her breasts. “Clothes, of course, but I can just tear up a few of our softest furs and coats and scarves and reweave them for that.”

She frowns, trying to remember everything Sasi had said. One memory - of Rathan, actually, not Aiko - makes her gently inserts a finger into Kali’s mouth on a hunch. Some cautious tapping brings a sigh. “It feels like Kali as least will be teething soon, so they’ll need something cold to make their gums stop hurting; a teething ring or something. At least the cold part will be easy here. Things to keep them entertained; toys and games - you’ll want things to play with, won’t you? Hmm?” A lock of hair strokes Kali’s chubby little cheek, and she snaps at it instinctively.

Rathan strolls back into the village, offensively warmly dressed in a way that makes Keris rather annoyed she gave him her amulet, while Calesco slumps back down.

“Oh, you had the babies?!” Kuha says, stretching and yawning. She eagerly hurries over. ”Calesco just woke me up, and she’s says she’s going to sleep. She’s really groggy. Oh, they’re really big! They... they look like they could be a few months old. And they’re both so hairy!”

“Exalted newborns,” Keris explains wearily. She’s exhausted - for once, _she_ actually needs a rest day. After the mountain and the birth, almost every part of her body hurts, right down to the ends of her hair and her toes. “I carried them for longer, so they’re less helpless now.” She checks in on them again - Kali appears to have fallen asleep, lulled by the steady rocking motion of Keris’s footsteps. Ogin is watching his sister intently with his eyes half-closed, their hair wound together loosely. “This is Ogin and that’s Kali.”

Kuha leans over. ”I never got to spend time around babies back home,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself. ”It is... bad luck for a child who has not been chosen to spend time around a twig-child. And the girls who are chosen, we are taken from our mothers before we are even weaned. We could not have mother’s milk. It would make our bones too heavy.”

Keris pulls her into a half-hug, careful not to squash the babies at all. “That time is past now. Look at you - you’re strong and beautiful and you have wings of your own. And you can help take care of these two. It’ll be good luck for them to have a... an aunt, I suppose, like you.”

Kuha tugs at her many and thick layers of clothing. ”I wish I could give you one of these layers, just for yourself and the babies, but they’re Calesco’s lies. I could tuck them under my clothes if they’re getting too cold, I guess?”

“They’re warm enough for now, but I definitely agree to getting out of the cold. And we still need to show Xasan his grand-niece and grand-nephew!”

Kuha huddles up close anyway, effectively trapping the babies between her own clothing and Keris’ body so they’re in a little insulated pocket. And Keris is glad of that too. She’s not running about or moving. She’s really feeling the cold, too.

((Roll me Endurance + Athletics, Diff 1, -2 external penalty from nakedness))  
((She’s still wearing enough tatters to be modest! Or, uh, to be modest if the babies weren’t feeding right now. Law of anime transformations, don’t you know.))  
((3+5-2=6. Uh. 1 success. Yikes, that was closer than I expected.))

She’s very much feeling the cold when Rathan returns, trailing Oula carrying spare clothes from their supplies. ”Things were tense for a little bit,” he says, affably. ”But I told them that a snake demon was attracted to the birth and we had to rescue you and the babies. So, you know, they may be telling tales about my bravery.”

((lol. oh rathan.))

“Clothes,” Keris says impatiently. “Clothes clothes clothes.” She grabs at the offerings, passing off Kali and Ogin for Kuha to hold as she swaddles the pair of them up until they look like a single awkwardly-shaped cloth-and-fur lump with two little faces poking out from little gaps in the layers. Then she scrambles to get _herself_ dressed and warm and decent; with no small amount of relief. It’s not the most fashionable thing she’s ever worn, but it keeps the cold wind off her and that’s what’s important.

Mournfully, she regards the remains of the sleepwear she’d been wearing. She’d really liked that shirt. It has not survived her sudden growth or the razor-edged feathers she’d been thrashing around with. Not even root-fingered cloth-weaving is likely to save it, because quite a lot of it is scattered over the snow in various scraps and tatters.

Sighing with regret, Keris accepts her two younger children back from Kuha and motions to the older one. “Come on then,” she says. “I’ll back up your story and we can try to salvage the rest of today. Which will be a rest day. Because I just gave birth, and nothing short of a natural disaster or a war is getting me out of bed before tomorrow.”

((Rathan rolling 14 dice vs MDV 4 - 8 successes.))

Rathan fortunately seems to have handled everything with his story about the snake demon coming for a pregnant woman - lying through his teeth to do so - and so the awkwardness has been brushed over. Meanwhile, he also has the rest of the town worried and looking outwards, scared of where the demon could have got to and not willing to spend time looking at the woman miraculously saved by her nephew and niece.

Because this is Rathan’s story, he contributed much more in scaring off the snake demon than Calesco did. He does concede to let Calesco have loosed an arrow of rowan wood that he - through his studies - knew that snake demons were scared of.

He’s also talked them into letting Keris have a warm room with its own fireplace, which she needs to recover from her traumatic experience. 

He’s such a nice boy, Keris decides, and makes a note to do something nice for him.

Calesco’s girls and Xasan are in the common room, although Xasan has been using his own status as a former soldier of the shah in shouting at people and organising the defences against the demon. They might not like a reminder of the shah’s former power here, but he knows what he’s doing - and from what Keris hears in whispers, they believe the dark-skinned Harbourites like him have magic powers that they can use to banish demons.

Because he’s organising things, it’s mid-morning before he can get free to visit Keris in her nursing room. She’s in bed - having handled everything with the midwife they sent her, who was neither very strong-willed nor willing to accept some of Keris’... peculiarities - and her now-cleaned babies are sleeping on her chest, swaddled up in clean linens in a way which conceals their inhuman traits.

“Hi, uncle,” she smiles at him. “Come over and have a look at them now they’re not covered in blood and stuff. And also so I can hug you. I don’t want to get up.”

Xasan approaches, but something about his movement wakes the babies. Two pairs of eyes - one silvery, one golden - focus on him. Her uncle steps back, reflexively making a horn-like gesture with both hands and crossing his arms on his chest.

Then they start to cry.

“Uh,” he says, a helpless man. “Those eyes gave me a shock. Babies that young can’t… I mean, they shouldn’t… they don’t normally even open their eyes…”

“Godschildren, both of them,” Keris says simply. “I was pregnant for a full year, not nine months. They’re more capable than mortal infants - think of them as six-month olds, I guess. And these two have a bit more spirit in them than most godblooded, too.”

She beckons him closer. “This is Kali, see? She’s got some of the light of the Sun in her. And Ogin here; he’s a little moon-child.” A pause. “Also, you know. They’re both mine. So they’ve got that kind of blood too. Don’t you, darlings?” A softly hummed tune has Kali’s tears petering out as she presses her head against Keris’s chest to hear the sound better, while Ogin keeps staring up at the big shaped-sort-of-like-mama thing with a wobbling lip.

He settles down on the far end of the bed, and clears his throat. “If we were back home, if you had been raised as one of our people,” he says, “I’d make sure they tasted salt, blood and milk. But there aren’t any cows to get the cattle blood from, and the same for the milk. And we don’t have a calf to sacrifice at the birth of your first child, and the clan isn’t all here. It’s women’s knowledge how to handle a birth and scare off the blood-drinker spirits, too - I don’t know enough.” He looks over at Ogin in particular. “They’re both paler than you,” he says, sadly. “Pale enough they’d stand out back home.”

“Ogin’s father was Northern,” Keris murmurs as she strokes them. “Kali’s... I don’t think his people still even exist.” She falls silent for a few moments, lost in thought. “Salt, blood and milk,” she says at length. “I’m not... I mean, you’re right. I didn’t get raised as a Daiwye, with my mother’s traditions. And we don’t have any cows. But... we could still try to honour the traditions in some form?” Worried eyes seek out Xasan’s. “If... if you’d want that, I mean.”

He smiles, though she can tell he’s just as worried as she is. “That’d be good. They’re still a quarter from the old country, and… you say neither of their fathers can help? Then they might at least try to be of the Daiwye. We might be a scattered, lost clan - but that’s all they have.” He looks directly at Keris. “It is not good for someone to be without a people for too long. I know that for sure. I have lived in this foreign land for as long as I did back home.”

Keris settles a loop of hair around him in a loose hug. “I’d like for them to be Daiwye, then. Can you see if you can get the blood and milk and salt? They have goats here even if they don’t have cattle - and Tairan beasts would be a nod to their grandfather while the ritual honours my mother.” She grins. “We might even manage that sacrifice for a firstborn. Though,” she adds with a scowl, “Rathan and Calesco are refusing to tell me which order they came out in. Something about not favouring either of them, they say, but I’m pretty sure they’re just doing it to be frustrating.”

She glances down at her children with a raised eyebrow, but Kali seems to have gone back to sleep and Ogin is sucking his thumb contemplatively. Neither seems helpful in answering her question.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Xasan promises. He and Keris talk some more - including him recounting the first time he saw Keris herself - and then he leaves to go looking for the things he needs.

This leaves Keris with some time to herself, alone. The babies are thankfully asleep, and she’s warm and lying somewhere soft. She’s almost entirely healed already, and that’s certainly something to be thankful for; that she’s not a mere mortal.

It’s not been long - perhaps a week or so - since she sent her family off down the Grey River, and at this time of day they’ll be on a boat and probably in a cabin. With that in mind, Keris whistles softly.

“Rounen,” she calls quietly. “I need you; could you come out please?”

Her little pontiff appears in a swirl of petals, fire-filled eyes wide as he takes in the babies.

“This is Kali, and this is Ogin,” Keris tells him. “I’ll give you a little bit to write a story about them, but then I need you to carry a message to Ali and Zany, okay? I want you to tell them that their niece and nephew have been born, and their names, and that they’re in good health.”

Rounen nods happily. “I can do that, mum! How’d they get out of you, though?” He pulls his book out from its hip pouch and leafs through to a blank page, scribbling descriptions already. Keris smiles indulgently.

“Well, what happened was...”

The telling doesn’t take too long - Rounen can write as fast as Keris can speak - and she gives him the basics of the tale. No doubt he’ll seek out Rathan and Calesco later to add more. For the moment, though, he tucks his book away again and stands ready as Keris shapes essence into and around him.

“ ** _Say thus as my messenger to my brother and his wife,_** ” she commands, “Ali, Zany, this message comes from Keris. Your niece Kali and your nephew Ogin were born this morning, as dawn broke and the night gave way to the day. They’re both healthy and strong; you have no need to worry there. The birth was unexpected and could have come at a better time, but I’m mostly recovered already, and Xasan is eager to welcome into the world with some of the Daiwye traditions. I look forward to introducing them to the rest of their family when we see each other again. I wish you all safe travels and good winds, and send you my love.” A gesture, and Rounen’s glowing petals rustle and rise like the feathers of a bird. “ ** _Go in my name, and speak with my voice._** ”

Rounen accelerates off, vanishing through the wall, and Keris lies back. He’ll probably be back in an hour or less - they’re much closer than Keris’ usual messages she sends to Sasi.

That’s not the only message she wants to send, of course. But the other two are perhaps not suited to an Infallible Messenger. Sasi still has work, and with the travel time... Keris squeezes her eyes shut and does some quick mental calculations, eventually concluding that it would probably reach her at night or late evening, ish. But she has no way of telling if it would interrupt something - Keris hasn’t forgotten the rather sharp response she’d received last year after one of her Messengers arrived to serenade Sasi in the middle of an important meeting.

So instead she lies back and feels around within her soul. In the past she’s always relied on Calesco to send arrow-dreams, but it’s still fundamentally one of her own powers. And it’s more instinctive than Sorcery, too. She merely needs to wrap the adorable sight of her children nuzzling into her and each other around her love for Sasi, imprint it with a similar message to the one she’d given Rounen, and let it fly. Next time she sleeps - not much later than an Infallible Messenger would have arrived anyway - Sasi will dream of this room; of Keris sitting in bed with a huge smile and two sweet little children in her arms. And she’ll get to have Keris give her the good news herself - if not in person, then at least in effigy.

The second dream is harder. Something tells Keris that... she can’t fire these dreams as freely as she can send Rounen out to bear her words. Her heart is a quiver that can only carry so many arrows, and they replenish more slowly than the whirling cyclone of her essence. Still, she wants to spread this good news now, rather than later, and so she focuses on her admiration for Lilunu, her appreciation for all her mentor has taught her, and shapes another dream around that bond to let her know that Keris’s children are born, and healthy, and whole. And if it’s a dream set outside, with surroundings that fade between the snow-covered Tairan mountains, the sparkling blue seas of the Southwest and the lush jungles of An Teng... well, there’s nothing wrong with giving Lilunu a peek at some of Creation’s vistas.

((Two uses of Love-Born Sweet Fancies; costing two Compassion channels.))

Keris is feeling tired and headachy. Unfortunately, the feeding for the two babies has filled their tiny stomachs. And then their stomachs do what stomachs do, and moved the milk on as they digest it. Keris only realises this when an unpleasant smell arises from the swaddling cloths.

She’s cleaning up the mess - none too happily - by the time Xasan gets back.

“I found someone willing to sell an old ewe - and they have goats that are still making milk,” he announces. “Unfortunately, they weren’t willing to part with a goat, but at least you can have mutton to help feed you up for the babies. Especially for twins. It’s important a new mother eats well.”

“I am definitely in favour of eating well,” Keris agrees, cheering up a little as she turns away from the soiled cloths. Maybe she can just burn them to ash. That would technically be clean. Argh, but then she won’t have anything to wrap them in. “I should make them some proper clothes to keep them warm before we move on tomorrow, as well - could you bring the clothes bag over?” She accepts it and starts hunting through for the softer materials within. “Oh, and since they were born with the dawn, should we do the ritual at dusk? Or noon? Is there a proper time?”

Xasan scratches his chin. “Usually, on the fifth sunrise after they are born,” he says. “That is when they are named. Once they see their fifth sun, they will probably live. We don’t name them before, because that would tell the sickness spirits that we love the child too dearly and they might come for them and the mother.”

Keris gives the already-named Kali and Ogin a slightly guilty glance, before her expression firms. “If any spirit - blood-drinkers, sickness-bringers or any other breed - try to harm my children, I will kill them so horribly that they’ll be used as examples a hundred generations from now, and nothing of their ilk will dare go _near_ a child in this region for another thousand years,” she says firmly. “The traditions that make them Daiwye, I’ll gladly follow, but they need no more protection than me.”

She pauses, and beckons him closer. “As well as that... like I said, they’re godschildren. Kali at least can take other forms, and Ogin...” she twitches a fold of blanket aside to reveal two of his tails, which took some wriggling and fussing before Xasan’s arrival to clean up and dry. “I’ve seen another child like they are - one born of a being as powerful as me; a baby as much spirit as human. She’s...” Keris counts back for a moment, “... just over a year old now, and she was born mature like they were. From what I’ve seen of her, we don’t have to worry about them not living out their first few days. They’re hardier than mortal infants.”

Xasan flinches back, just as he did when he saw their eyes for the first time, and his hands make the bull-horns symbol again. “Gods,” he breathes. “He’s…” There’s fear in his voice.

“My _son_ ,” Keris finishes for him, a hard note in hers. “And perfect and sweet and beautiful. Look.” She presents Ogin with a hair tendril, which he solemnly grabs at, considers and then tries to put in his mouth. “He’s just a baby, not some kind of... monster. I don’t...”

She pauses, trying to settle the hurt at Xasan’s reaction, and the faint-but-rising worry that this will be a bridge too far for him. “I don’t see how it matters that he’s... not pure human. I mean, my hands can become roots. I grew back your hand with them, and you had no problem with _that_.”

((Per+Pres to get Xasan to see them as just babies and not anything unnatural or scary; mechanically the first scene of effort to install an Illusion. 4+5+2 Eternal Matriarch+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {self-defined victim, impossibly high standards, thinks she is fair}=22. 13 sux.))

Xasan is clearly mixed. He’s scared of the babies. He was wary when he saw their eyes and their too-alert behaviour, and now seeing Ogin’s legs, he’s more than wary.

But on the other hand, Keris is there. She’s his niece; she gave him back his hand. And he can see how protective she is.

“Perhaps…” he says uneasily, “the rite might… not…” But Keris is looking at him, looking disappointed. He sighs. “I suppose,” he says slowly.

Keris beams at him, and shifts over to give him a proper hug as a reward. There’s still a little hurt, but she can suppress that as long as he’s moving in the right direction.

“Dawn tomorrow, then,” she declares. “I don’t want to delay for five days. Not,” she adds with a meaningful glance up, “when we’re looking for Maryam. So we’ll perform the rite tomorrow before we set off, and they can travel with us as Daiwye.”

She stops, a thought occurring to her suddenly. “Wait... mama was there when I was born. Did she do this for me, when I was a baby?”

“I… don’t know,” Xasan admits. “I wasn’t there when you were born, and I never asked her.” He slumps down against the wall. “So many things we didn’t say,” he says, softly.

“Well... well then we’ll have to ask her when we find her,” Keris decides. “And in the meantime, you can tell me more about the Daiwye traditions.”

There’s less here than Keris would like. Xasan was a young man when he left Harbourhead, and he’s been in Taira for a very long time. It’s still interesting to hear, though, and the tales tell Keris of how much she doesn’t know about her mother’s people.

Still, the little thing he does is a mark that maybe her children might find out more than she knows. It’s a strange little group that gathers for it - demons, a demonhost, akuma-babes and a princess of Hell - but Xasan slaughters the ewe and sets it roasting, marking little bull-horns on the babies’ heads. He wets his fingers with milk, dips the wet fingers in salt, and puts the finger near their mouths, letting their natural instincts guide them to trying to feed from it. Kali seems to like the taste of the salty milk, but Ogin starts crying. He tells them their names then, over the noise of the crying.

Then he’s mixing the remaining salt with the blood and the juices from the cooking meat, and painting it on the cooking ewe.

“Back home, this’d be given to the mother by the community - and it’d be a calf,” he explains to Keris. “It’s a way to make sure she regains her strength and produces for her babies. Consider it my gift to you, at least.”

The mutton is tough, but Keris hardly cares about such things when she can eat her way through a wooden door. And she does need the meat in the cold weather, especially while recovering. However, she shares it with the others because an entire ewe is more than she can manage.

Well fed, the group sets off.

“Where to now?” asks Oula. She’s slightly hurt that Keris isn’t letting her play with the babies more, citing the fact that there’s more mercury coming from her new body than Keris wants around her children. “What’s the plan now?”

Keris shifts Kali and Ogin in the sling she’s fashioned for them. The afternoon spent weaving was fruitful, and they’re each swaddled in a fitted little cocoon of soft muslins and cottons within, shielded from the elements by furs and leather on the outside. With his tails all bundled together into the roll, Ogin looks more or less like a normal little boy - though it’s a kitten’s face that peeks out of Kali’s hood.

“We keep following the trail,” she announces. “But we’ll slow down a little. Calesco, stay near the girls and keep an eye out for anything I miss. We’ve had a decent rest stop here, but I’m not sure how much we can rely on finding towns and wayhouses. Especially safe ones.”

The weather has cleared somewhat. The snow drifting down is now loose flakes, and the wind has calmed down so it’s no longer blowing directly in Keris’ eyes. Still, they’re up in the high mountains here, and it’s even colder than it was in Baisha. It’s not a place for babies, even babies that are huddled up as they are by Keris’ work.

“While you were fussing over the babies,” Rathan contributes, “I talked to the people here. They said that back a few years ago, before the war got so bad, there used to be frequent movement of slaves that went through the old mountain tunnel-fort - the one we saw. They headed down to a river, and apparently there’s another glass road up ahead that the river has flooded over in winter. In summer apparently it dries out. I pretended we were following the same route, and they said there’s a temple about a day’s travel up ahead which takes in pilgrims.”

“We’ll call that a cautious next stop, then,” Keris says. “Though I’ll want to scout it first, if it’s a temple. If they catch wind of you or Oula or the babies they might react badly.” Her eyes flicker across the snow, searching for bloodsigns, and shifts her coat to better cover the baby sling. “It should be alright if you and I go first and dazzle them all. I trust your way with words.”

Progress is slower, now that the babies are outside of Keris. For example, they seem to constantly need feeding. Every ninety minutes, they start wailing and Keris has to find a place out of the wind to let them latch on. And then just as often, they need cleaning. She’s already constantly listening to their guts, just so she can pre-empt their mess-making. But of course, the cold then makes them cry as she holds them somewhere so they can poop.

And then there’s the fact that if she runs too quickly, even the layers of cloth they’re wrapped in aren’t enough to keep them warm. The wind-chill factor is dreadful for them.

“This isn’t working,” Rathan observes lazily when - again - they have to call a rest stop down in a cave Calesco found near where their current valley merges with the river valley. She thinks it’s the right river - the water is peculiarly red, reflecting the glass that it’s flowing over. “You can’t carry newborns and keep on running like you do normally. Maybe you need a mount. Or a mount _and_ one of those felid-apes you made for me when I was a baby.”

Calesco shrugs. “It depends how long we’re going to be up in the mountains,” she says. She looks at Keris, almost with a little concern. “We could always head _down_ out of the mountains and find a town where we could settle in for a month or two, until they’re older and need feeding less often.”

Xasan scowls. “No. We can’t take any more obstructions. No more delays.”

“They are newborn babies,” Calesco counters acidly. “And my girls could do with some time to be fed up properly and to be taught to ride properly. They haven’t had to ride before.”

Keris bites a hair-tendril thoughtfully, then swears as her lip catches the sharp edge of a feather. The ones in her hair aren’t the razor-edged lethal things that cover Pekhijira or Calesco, but they can still cut like the edge of a sheet of paper if they catch against something the wrong way.

Rathan, Calesco and Xasan all make good points, and she lets Kali wrap her soft, weak, impossibly tiny fingers around her thumb as she thinks them over.

She can’t leave the babies behind to move faster on her own. Not even with her uncle or children. Not even with one of her own Gales. They’re too precious; too fragile and vulnerable and sweet. And she’s made a promise - she **vowed** \- to find her mother and father and get them out of Taira too, if they want to go. A month is too long to stop; it wouldn’t just be a betrayal of them but also of her oath.

On the other hand... Calesco has a point about her girls flagging on the trail. Not to mention how cold it is for the babies.

“We... we can’t just stop for a month,” Keris says out loud. “That’s too long, and anyway, we’re close. We have to be close. We _must_ be.” She shifts her grip on Ogin’s head to support him better as Kali tugs her thumb back and forth. “But you’re right about the girls. Maybe we could... put them up somewhere? Find a village that looks friendly and pay for their stay? We’ll be coming back this way anyway, and it would let them stay warm and rest and heal while we’re on the move. And that would free up a mount and let us move faster, which means less time in the cold.”

Calesco squares up to her mother, eyes narrowed. “That is an unbelievably awful idea for two reasons, _mother_ ,” she says, dropping into Old Realm to exclude everyone but her, Rathan, Oula and Keris from the conversation. “Firstly, that solves none of the issues with _newborns_ in the freezing _mountains_ when you’re constantly having to stop and feed them and they’re just too tiny to be in weather this cold! And,” she raises her voice to drown out Rathan’s objections, “you realise that these mountains seem to be full of Illuminationists?” She glances over at the girls. “It’s not safe to leave them in a village of people who might burn them for their beliefs. Or stone them. Or kill them some other way! I can’t even believe you’d suggest that!”

Even Rathan looks conflicted. “Calesco is being mean - probably because she’s tired and cold,” he says, also in Old Realm. The two of them seem to have decided that it’s not a conversation for Xasan or Calesco’s girls to overhear, somehow without communicating. “But she is right. These mountains are not a good place for newborns. Argh, if only this was the Season of Fire! It’d probably be a comfortable temperature and we wouldn’t be having all these problems. Stupid weather gods.” He taps his teeth with his knuckles, pondering. “At the very least, we need better shelter on the move,” he decides. “If we had something… something like a floating caravan or even a wagon, you could leave the babies in the warmth and go out. I’m sure Calesco could handle cleaning them up.”

Calesco glares at him. “I’m helping her look - in fact, I’m doing _most_ of the looking now because she has to keep on stopping to feed them or clean them. You could be a wonderful big brother and do it yourself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s a job for girls, not for…”

“Children,” Keris snaps in Old Realm, interrupting their spat. They shut up, largely because she accompanies it with a wall of hair between them. “It wouldn’t work,” she sighs. “A wagon would be too slow - and these mountains would _kill_ it, anyway. A sleigh might work with all this slow, but even then; the terrain would be too harsh on it. Half the reason we’re using the anyaglos is that we need to be airborne to move at any speed in these mountains, and there aren’t any vehicles that... can...”

She trails off, staring at Rathan with unseeing eyes and blinking rapidly.

“Mama?” he asks after a moment. “Did you think of something?”

“... maybe,” Keris says quietly. Rat... Rat had been Northern, and while he’d never even had the faint memories of a native land that she’d had, he’d collected stories about the places he might have hailed from. He’d been particularly enthusiastic about the stories of flying ships in the far North; some kingdom or legion or... no, league, that was it. The something-or-other league, and their flying ships.

“There’s a place in the far North with flying boats,” she says, switching back to Rivertongue and leaving out exactly how she knows this. “They make them fly with... I think they hang them under floating bags or something. I saw a picture once. And...” she glances at the girls and switches back to Old Realm, “there are things like that in Hell, too, but they use demons to stay up and we don’t have any giant flying whale things here. But the Northern ones work on their own, so my spell could make one.”

She clears her throat and addresses the group again. “The picture I saw - if we had one like that; it could fit all of us and keep out the wind and cold. We wouldn’t need to stop at all, either - we could keep the ship going all day and night and just fly down to pick out the trail and adjust our course to it.”

“Child,” points out Dulmea, “you have difficulty enough with ocean-going ships. Is taking to the sky in one wise?”

Keris chooses not to answer this, and pulls out some paper. “We’ll take a long rest stop this afternoon,” she orders. “I need at least a solid idea of what this thing will look like before I make it. Oula, can you go and find me something to make it with? Not wood; something light like grass or a leaf.”

With a pine branch found by Oula, the group manages to find an abandoned shepherd’s hut by the river to stop for a rest, and Keris gets to work.

((Okay, so you’re recreating a design only from tales and rumours and a few sightings of hell-ships. This is a Difficulty 7 Cog + Occult roll - truly a legendary deed - but it can be enhanced by Malfean Scholar Style if you don’t mind the end product being something a scholar familiar with the ways of Hell could recognise as infernally influenced. Any other applicable Style, you’ll have to fight to justify. Failure to meet the required successes means there are flaws in the design - one flaw per success missed, which will make themselves known in time.))

She starts with a light boat design - those, she knows well enough to duplicate. Then it’s a matter of shaving weight wherever possible and working out how the flotation-bag will connect, which aren’t too hard. The trickiest bit is the steering. Dulmea’s point might have been mean, but it was also accurate. Keris only has a rough theoretical idea of how the sails on a normal, waterbound ship make it go where she wants; preferring to do her steering by heart-driven instinct and the friendlier currents of the sea.

The problem of how to rig up sails that will direct and turn an _airborne_ vessel, therefore - not to mention moving them somewhere not occupied by a giant floating bag - is a knotty one that keeps her stymied for several hours. Even what she can remember of Hellish ships is only helpful to a certain extent, since _her_ gasbag won’t be a living creature capable of steering on its own.

((4+5+3 Malfean Scholar+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {ultimate trafficker, shapes as useful as they are uncomfortable}=23. 10 sux.))

Still, after six hours sketching she has a set of very artistic plans that she’s ready to use as reference materials for her sorcery. 

“Very nice,” Rathan says admiringly.

“I don’t think it’ll go as fast as the angyalos,” Calesco says. “Eko tried building airships a few months ago, and I salvaged a few when she got bored. But they only flew when she kept then filled with floating rocks, and they turned into gravel and escaped her nets. We used the wood and silk to build houses.” She looks over at the twins, who are just being fed. “Now, you can pass them to me and Rathan while you cast the spell. You should probably do it far enough away that you won’t hear them crying if they start, because no one wants a sorcerous explosion if you lose focus. Least of all the people around here who you care about who’ll be hurt. Like the babies. And your family.”

It’s a testament to the protectiveness of a new mother that Keris is reluctant to hand over her babies even to her compassionate daughter and innocent son. However, Calesco’s impatient look and Rathan’s utter trustworthiness coax her into relinquishing - for more or less the first time since their birth - as Rathan takes his sort-of-full-brother and Calesco takes her half-sister.

There’s a hiccup during this second transfer, followed by an angry cheeping noise. Rathan stifles a snicker as they back away to a safe distance.

Keris rolls her eyes at him and goes through the motions of retrieving Vali’s - grudgingly relinquished - red jade armour. It tastes more like him, though it’s still just an overlayer infusing the surface patina of the metal.

Then it’s a matter of folding essence construct after essence construct into the pressurised container that will anchor the airship. It’s not as hard as the riverboat was - despite the size of the gas balloon, the body of this airship is only made to hold a dozen people rather than several hundred - but it’s still an exercise of intense mental exertion holding so many complex patterns in her hear, forcing them into the armour-catalyst and keeping each one trapped there like a butterfly under a pin while she prepares the next.

The last one slots into place and Keris releases the spell, stumbling back hastily as the pine branch inside the armour expands in hyper-accelerated growth. Wood fountains forward and back as the armour is again made the anchorpoint of a vessel; the branch’s extrusions forming cabins and corridors and hull as the needles knit together into flexible, almost fern-like sails and a huge, rapidly-filling bag.

There is something of the pine branch about the finished airship. Perhaps it’s its narrow, frond-like wings that sweep back like a hawk in a dive. Of course, it also smells very strongly of pine, but with a slightly alien tang that reminds Keris of the Swamp. And that’s not where the similarities to Haneyl’s realm stop. Many-coloured flowers blossom all over the wings, glowing with a phosphorescent aura, while Keris can see the green flame glowing under the woven gas bag.

Her jade armour isn’t at the prow, this time. As she clambers onboard to check it, she finds that the jade armour is seated on the deck, the flame burning on its lap. It’s almost as if it’s meditating on it.

For the size of the gas bag, the ship itself is remarkably slender. The magic only let it grow so large, like a tree constraining the size of its fruit. It’s a narrow knife-like vessel, more like a cutter than the larger ship she’d taken down to Terema. There’s a small cabin on the deck of the ship that’s going to be a tight fit for everyone, plus space below decks. Although - Keris sees, poking her head down there - it’s the fleshy, woody organs of the ship that make up most of the space down there. From the Hell-ships she’s seen in books, they mostly use slaves to spin their propellers, but her ship has half-extruded things from its hull to drive them. That’s certainly Haneyl’s influence. While there are sails up on the gas-bag, they’re lowered at the moment, and the bird-men that the magic has made are perched in their nests, waiting for their orders.

Keris grins as she notes that the ship has grown twin cots in the cabin, and this pine-smelling space is both very warm and completely proof against the wind. Even when on deck, the thin pine branches that wrap the deck trap the heat of the green flame and shield against the wind. Her ship is legitimately warmer than the stone hut everyone else is in.

They are, however, going to have to take care. The gas bag is creaking in the winds this high up, and she hates to think what would happen if her ship was dashed into a mountain. She can probably trust in the crew in non-challenging conditions, but… well, she better hope that Rathan’s experience with water ships converts to this if things get tough.

“All aboard, everybody!” she calls, loud enough for the humans sheltering from the wind in the cave to hear. “It’s warm and better-sheltered, and it means we can take it easy for the rest of the trip and still keep moving!”

More quietly, she beckons her children over to her and scoops the twins back into her arms. “Rathan,” she adds in Old Realm, “I might need you at the helm if the winds pick up - and Calesco, Kuha; if you can keep your eyes and ears peeled for any stormy weather while you’re up in the air, it could save us a lot of trouble. This thing is probably tougher than most mortal airships, but I really don’t want to put that to the test. I’d rather ground it and deflate the gasbag than get smashed into a mountain with everyone onboard, even if it means a delay.”

Xasan is the first onboard, and he sighs in relief as the warmth from the green flame washes over him. “Now this is much more like it!” he announces, yanking the scarfs away from his face and grooming the ice out of his moustache. “An eastern flyingship, eh? I’ve seen mercenaries with these - riding giant rooks that nested on them. Though they kept themselves aloft with captured wind spirits.”

Calesco seems rather more content to simply head straight to the cabin and collapse. Keris remembers that she’s from the hottest part of her soul, and she’s been suffering in the cold. She’s probably going to sleep and enjoy being properly warm for the first time in days. Hopefully it’ll improve her temper when she wakes up, Keris thinks darkly. 

Rathan for his part is grinning at the news that he’s _basically_ the captain. Since he has his hands on the amulet, he’s more than happy to replace his current turban with an elaborate sea-captain’s hat and makes himself entirely at home in the captain’s seat. Oula gleefully takes her place on his lap, cooing compliments about how dashing his hat makes him look.

But not everyone is so happy. Keris’ demons don’t mind, but Heba, Kashma and Fatima are much more wary of the giant pine-smelling ship hanging under a balloon with a bright green burning flame on it. They follow Calesco onboard because it is very, very cold outside, but Keris doesn’t even need to listen to their racing hearts to know they’re scared.

For one, their mountain-dialect Rivertongue and quiet whispers of “witchcraft” and “that fire is evil” and things like that tell her it clearly enough.

Clapping her hands as soon as she’s settled the twins into their cots - they’re mercifully asleep now, warm and with full bellies - Keris announces another check-up for the girls’ injuries and beckons them over with the promise of pain-relieving massage and comfortable beds. She’s been meaning to look over them again anyway, and having the riding-soreness and lingering injuries treated to the best of her ability might distract them from the nature of the ship and get them to stop complaining.

And if it doesn’t... well, the little summoned anyaglo herd is keeping pace with the ship nicely, and a friendly lick will let all three of them have a deep, dreamless night of sleep the next time they bed down.

Keris finds that they’ve not been healing as fast as they would have been if they’d just been getting proper bed rest. The constant movement - and the stress and the cold, no doubt - has been opening wounds and aggravating bruises. Well, at least they can rest in the warm here. Even if - Keris winces - all the lights in the cabin burn an uncanny pale green. 

It’s Heba who has the question for Keris. “Are you a witch?”

Well, thinks Keris, rocking back on her heels. There’s a loaded crossbow of a question.

“I’m spirit-blessed and Chosen,” she answers. “I travel in the company of gods, and I have magic - like what I used to heal you and the spell that made this airship.”

“Yes, b-but are you a witch?” Heba presses. “This is a pine branch - so you’re making it fly by turning it into a ship, but it’s still flying and witches ride pine branches. And witches make fires burn green and have demons and fairies serving them and… and Rathan,” she makes a gesture, “has pearls for eyes and horns so I think he’s a fairy and…” she flinches back.

((As we’re not going to RP it all out, Keris needs an approach for handling this and then to make the appropriate Persuasion-based roll, against a base MDV of 3… though this may be modified by principles.))

Keris sighs mournfully. “Those Illuminationists, back in your town,” she says gently. “They said that the moon and those who worship her were witches, didn’t they? That’s why they try to... hurt you.” Slowly, taking care not to startle them, she leans over and pats Heba’s hand. “Witches exist, but most of the stories about what they do are just ignorant people slapping the name on things they don’t like. Like moon worship. Or turning plants into ships - I made a riverboat from a cedar cone not so long ago; the pine branch was just the first growing thing to hand.”

She’s sweet and kind and charming, and her voice lulls the girls into relaxing as she continues, framing the stories of green fire and plant-vehicles as innocents accused of being witches by superstitious sun-worshippers.

“And please don’t call Rathan a fairy,” she adds. “He’s a young moon-spirit - the meeting of the moon and sea. He likes pearls because they’re reflections of the moon beneath the water, and he’s helped me fight _against_ fairies in the past.” She smirks at the memory. “We won.”

((Equating Keris with their own plight as being a non-witch who got vilified and called a witch by sun-worshippers and whose powers were called witchy despite not being so. Also throwing in some “we don’t like fairies” for good measure.  
Per+Pres = 4+5+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {self-defined victim, hides ugliness beyond imagining, charm}=20. 6 sux. Eep, I hope that Principle boost isn’t too high.))

Even as she talks, Keris is realising she’s doing it all wrong. Her words aren’t coming across properly. Her very alluringness is scaring the girls - especially the sisters - and the fear is contagious. They’re just not listening to her, because they’ve been taught to be scared of witches and her half-foreign looks make her suspicious anyway. 

((Keris discerns that the sisters have a 3-dot principle of “Witches & Demons (Fear)” - Kashma doesn’t have that, but the fear from her friends is making her spend WP to resist Keris’ ways. She also notices that Kashma in particular is reacting like she’s attracted to Keris even though she mentioned when they met that she’d had a fiance who died.))

She trails off, and sighs. “Look,” she says with somewhat less alluring charm and somewhat more blunt honesty. “There’s nothing I can say to you that will prove for sure that I’m completely trustworthy and honest. Anything I can promise, an evil witch might lie about, and anything an evil witch might lie about could be said for real by someone who meant it.” She ignores the hovering option of Rathan’s light, unwilling to go to that much effort right now. “But I’ve healed your wounds, I haven’t hurt or corrupted anyone in the whole time you’ve been with me and you know Calesco - even if she criticises me a lot - considers me good enough that she’s willing to travel with me. All I’m doing is trying to find someone and rescue them. And I gave you my word that once you were healed up, if you want to be dropped off at a city like Terema with enough to keep you fed and housed until you’re on your feet, I’d see to it. That promise stands.”

She spreads her hands, only a little theatrically. “Now, I have two grouchy infants who’ll probably be waking up wanting food again soon, and I haven’t had much sleep in... oh, days, I’d guess, and weeks before that. So can you take my intentions on trust until your bones have finished healing and _then_ start thinking about this sort of thing in depth?”

In the end, the girls don’t really have much of a choice. They’re on an airship, surrounded by strange spirits, and they’re hurt. All that Keris can hope is that maybe Calesco can pick up some of the slack when she wakes up.

But in the meantime, Keris has her ribbon horse to get her down and lets her run in advance of the ship - far enough to find the path, close enough to hear her babies when they start crying. It’s not a perfect arrangement, but it allows her to get more done without exposing the babies to the bitter cold. Calesco is up on the ship when Keris isn’t, and takes the lead when Keris is busy with the children. They’re still losing time, but the progress now is steady.

Over the next day and night, Keris’ airship ascends as the land does, following the icy stream that runs atop the flooded ancient road. Rathan is forced to tack into the headwind, slowing them further, and he takes them higher to give him more room to steer.

“The wind here feels like the wind that comes off the near Spires,” he observes to Keris, clambering easily off the gasbag with his hair. “That is, the bits that are coming off the Ruin before Vali can stir it up. I think the reasons the winds are so strong and cold here is that there’s a plateau up ahead.”

“That would match the map,” Oula calls out. She has been _enthusiastic_ about her newly self-appointed duties as Rathan’s helmswoman. “I think this is saying that the north east of Taira is part of the same uplands plateau that the Vakotans live in, and continues to the north-western highlands of Harbourhead.” She has other notes that Keris acquired in the markets of Terema in front of her. “Malra controls the plateau - it’s where the richest silver mines are. That sounds really pretty. I’d like to get my hands on some Malran silver for working with.”

“The Vakotans ravaged my hometown,” Keris grumbles. “If I find my mother in their hands as well, I’ll make them pay for it in more than just silver.” She taps her fingers thoughtfully. “Malra’s one of the main forces in the war, and I’d like to avoid that if we can. I’m not opposed to picking up some high-quality silver for jewellery and the like, but if it means getting between Malran and shahbanu forces I’ll be content with the silver I can get from other sources. We’re here for a rescue, not to get sucked into battle and bloodshed.”

Rathan tilts his head, considering options. “How do you want to approach this situation, mama?” he asks. “So far the airship’s been hidden in the clouds, but if the weather clears, we’ll be obvious for all to see. I don’t much fancy flying over something where there could be some horrible mean Fire Aspect waiting with a bow to shoot burning things at us. It’s bad enough when Haneyl does things like that.”

Xasan, listening in, frowns. “Yes,” he says shortly. “I only saw a few airships in all my years with the shah. Word is that a few mercenary captains have flown here with their own air scouts, so maybe you might be able to blend in as one of them - but then again, I don’t know if Malra hired any of those men.”

Keris purses her lips. “So far we’ve mostly been away from villages and towns, too,” she muses. “Urgh, this would be far easier if I had some idea of how much further we had to go.” She considers for a moment longer. “We have pretty good range away from the airship with the ribbon-horses. Depending on how populated the plateau is, we could just keep it low and away from the towns as we followed the path. Or dismiss it and grow a landbound coach to take its place. Xasan, how dense are the settlements up here?”

Xasan sucks in a breath between his teeth. “Malra was always more populated than the lower mountains. The plateau has a better climate - warmer winds from the south-west come up from Harbourhead. But I haven’t heard much out of it recently. Malra drifted away from the shah years ago. The naib - Taym Matah - he’s a smart one. He doesn’t need to control the Terema river trade. He’s got lots of silver, after all and is generous with it. From what I heard, about five years back one of the shahbanu’s armies got smashed by the defences up here - he hires Dragonblooded and pays them well, and his men fight like demons.”

“I’ve seen,” Keris mutters. “They fight better than mortals - better than human limits should let them. If he hires Dragonblooded to train them, that would make sense.” She taps the gnarled wood of the railing again, thinking.

“Alright. Rathan, get us up to the plateau and then take us down to the ground once we’re there. Calesco and I will go out on a quick scouting foray to see which way the trail is leading, and then either we’ll take off again and stay low and clear of villages, or switch to something more land-bound if it points us towards the towns.”

As Rathan takes the ship around and starts to look for suitable landing sites where the wind won’t dash him against the rocks, a distant noise over the sound of the storm catches Keris’ attention. It’s so faint that even she isn’t sure if she heard it. Perking up, however, she listens closely - and there it is, the sound of a human scream, distant and far below! There’s rage in that scream, and sorrow, and a complete lack of fear. There’s something _wrong_ about the sound, too - something that makes her doubt her initial assumption that it was human in the first place.

And softer, drowned out almost entirely by the noise, are other screams and the sound of something burning.

“I hear something,” she says urgently. “Screaming. Cissidy! Get me to the ground!” She pelts across the ship to where her steed is huddled out of the wind with the other anyaglos in a pile of ribbons and hooves that sprawls across the bow deck. “Calesco, follow me if you can handle the winds; I might need an archer. Rathan, keep the ship safe and be ready to take off again if something attacks; that scream wasn’t human.”

Slinging a leg across Cissidy, Keris urges her out through the branches and downward. The wind and storm are dangerous weather to be riding in for such a lightweight steed - but they’re going straight down, not trying to fight the violent gusts or climb.

((6 successes on Cissidy’s Wind-Fast Steed roll - Keris isn’t thrown off, but she barely makes it against Diff 5!))

Her ribbon-horse - so brave! - manages to get her down, even though Cissidy’s light body is being whipped around and the winds in this mountain valley are almost unravelling her ribbons. She collapses down, ribbons illegibly trying to spell out words. The storm down here isn’t natural, Keris realises with dawning horror. It wasn’t this windy up in the airship, but the temperature here has dropped tens of degrees. It’s so cold she feels her lips going numb in seconds.

((Supernatural ice storm-level environmental hazard in effect))

It’s night, and there’s no moon or stars visible. The wind howls, almost drowning out the screams. Keris can hear the wind whip through tunnels throughout the valley, and she realises that there’s probably old mines - or even old structures - up there. After all, there’s a Shogunate glass road here so probably once long ago this place was important. Then, up ahead! Maybe a kilometre or so away, there’s a whomp of flame like an oil lantern shattering, and something starts burning. Maybe a canvas-covered wagon, Keris thinks, squinting through the snow that’s blowing in her eyes.

“Get back to the ship if you can!” she shouts to Cissidy. “Tell them not to land! Or go into the Domain; it’s not safe here!”

She doesn’t see which Cissidy chooses, because she’s already running for the flame. It’s guttering despite the oil; the cold down here is just too intense, and the wind too strong. At least she doesn’t feel them while she’s moving.

It doesn’t take her long to reach her burning target - no more than a minute despite the distance - but that’s enough to draw some quick conclusions. An unnatural storm on this level along with an inhuman scream - elemental. Probably something like the ones on that mountain. Maybe these humans angered it in some way, or maybe they were just unlucky to be in the area when its fury descended. Either way, the cause of this storm will probably be near them.

Maybe it’s for the best that she didn’t anchor Calesco in her Lance.

There are almost no humans left breathing by the time Keris arrives where the burning wagon stands. Everyone else here has been killed - and worse than killed. Torn apart. Like an attack by some great, terrible beast. 

She can see the wagons placed in a circle - they’re expensive things, made of fine woods and ornately carved. They’re war wagons, too, built to survive a bandit ambush with fighting platforms on top and solid frames that let them link together at night to form an ad hoc camp. The gleam of silver in the firelight tells Keris what they were carrying.

And she hears something else. The sound of something… chewing. Teeth biting down, meat ripping; something gluttonous eating its fill.

Silent as a wraith - not that she’d be audible amidst this storm even if she wore a full suit of clanking mortal armour - Keris crests the wagons; her Lance flickering into her hand even as she sees the thing that killed their owners. The chewing gets louder. Her ears prick up. Moving slowly makes the cold bite, but she doesn’t want to rush in.

There, down there. Something that moves on all fours. Something dark and horned, six cattle-like horns sprouting from its head. Its teeth burn blue; its muscles can be seen through its tattered, black-purplish rotten skin, its face is part hyena and part lion and part cow.

And part human. The milky eyes of the monster are all too human.

It’s eating a body. More than that, it’s eating the po soul of the freshly dead. With each bite, Keris sees - and more than that, hears - the ephemeral sound of the lower soul being torn up and moving down the gullet of the beast.

It’s Dead. And it’s hungry. And it must have eaten so many, many people and ghosts.

((Keris senses necrotic essence, Enlightenment 6))

“Blue silence,” Keris swears in shock. She’d been expecting an elemental, not... not _this_. This Greater Dead thing that’s barely human anymore; corrupted by the form of creatures it must have been close to in life...

Keris’s instinctive lunge at the thing aborts mid-motion as the realisation of _which_ creatures they are. Cattle; like the ones her highland ancestors herded and the followers of Ahlat rever. Lions and hyenas; favoured by the sun and moon according to the witch of the Bloody Lionesses.

Whatever this thing is now; the human it must once have been was Harborite.

Shuddering, Keris flares her soul; whipping her anima to a red-and-silver whirlwind that fends off the worst of the storm and should be visible even from the ship. It’ll certainly lead Calesco to her, if she’s looking, and hopefully it’ll warn Rathan not to venture too close.

She’s no longer weighed down by pregnancy. But she’s without her armour. She doesn’t need to worry about collateral damage or innocents in the line of fire. But she’s fighting in the grip of a storm worse than anything since the hungry king’s defences in the Northwest. She has Calesco for backup, if and when her daughter can reach her. But she’s probably rusty and a little off-balance after so long adjusting for her unborn children.

And her opponent is an undead monstrosity glutted on human souls and equal in strength to a demon lord.

Yes, Keris thinks as she charges. This should be a nicely challenging fight.

The beast perks up at the sight of the red-and-silver whirlwind, sniffing the air with a corpse-rattle inhalation. It’s a snuffling sound, wet and cold. And then it howl-roar-screams. All around the camp, torn apart bodies glow blue and their last breath escapes, taking form as a number of monstrous spectral animals.

What it does next surprises Keris, though, because it snatches up its current meal in its teeth, and runs for it. Just like a feral dog or an alley cat surprised when it’s trying to eat.

((Okay, so once again rather than do an Exalted 2e fight we’ll resolve it as scene-like encounter-thingies, like the mass combat against the Vakotans As it stands, the Corpse Eater is trying to escape with its meal, fleeing the scene. It’s created a horde of twisted enslaved souls from the dead it killed, and it’s setting them on Keris to try to slow her down. So, Keris has some choices:

[ ] Focus on the beast itself, trying to maim it, while more ignoring the cannon fodder it’s thrown at her. If she can slow it down, she might be able to force it to fight. Phys + Melee, Diff 9  
[ ] Try to head it off. It’s clearly running _to_ somewhere. Maybe she can find its den or something. Phys + Athletics, Diff 4  
[ ] Kill the fodder. Yes, it’ll get more of a lead, but she won’t have to worry about these mad souls and it won’t be able to… well, she’s pretty sure something like that could probably draw power from them. It’s the sort of creature that would. Phys + Melee, Diff 5  
[ ] Write-in; discuss with me)) 

It’s a chilling realisation for Keris that the Dead thing is acting not dissimilarly to her own po-soul in its tactics. Attacking this caravan of weak mortals with an ambush, using the storm as terrain advantage and cover, running from a threat rather than trying to fight... she recognises the tactics at work here. They’re her own - and probably why this thing that hunts on a plateau guarded by Malran Dragonblooded hasn’t fallen to a Wyld Hunt yet.

But this beast is weaker than her and mindless in death and twisted by rot and necrotic decay. If its instincts bear some similarity to Keris’s favoured hunting strategies; that only means she can guess at what it will do next. And if _she_ were ambushed while feeding by a vastly more powerful predator; she’d distract or delay it and flee back to a den or nest or lair where she had the advantages of home ground and hiding places; to either lose it or kill it via ambush.

How unfortunate that Keris is faster and smarter.

((Keris is going to head it off. She’s willing to use Racing Vitaris to outpace it massively or rapidly close the distance if necessary to beat it to a location and also blind it and throw it back in the process. She’s at stage 2 anima, regaining 4m/action.  
Her roll is 5+5+2 stunt+4 Adorjani ExD=16. 9 sux.))

Keris accelerates in a flash of red and silver light that illuminates the entire valley, suddenly painting it in stark relief. In that moment of clarity, Keris sees the valley walls are literal walls, and ancient worn faceless statues loom up in the snowstorm, holding long-broken weapons in guardian positions.

The light burns the creature’s eyes, and it screams and stumbles. Keris is ahead of it now, and like a cornered animal it runs the other way, fleeing towards the valley walls and away from its intended direction.

Keris realises now that this creature _hates_ light. More than anything, light hurts it. No wonder there’s no moon or stars in the sky, and no wonder it ran from her as soon as she flared her anima. And the people there, they tried to fight it with fire. 

But there’s something else she realises. She doesn’t think it was a person, not really. It’s acting more like her own po than a human ghost. So maybe this was a po in life, too.

She accelerates again with another boom of thunder and blinding flash, coming up on it as it runs and lunging for its legs with her spear. If she can hobble it before it can get to the walls, it won’t be able to squirm into the hiding places that are no doubt there, and her life will be a lot easier.

((17 die called shot to hamstring it and kill its mobility; -1 for called shot, -2 external from the storm=16+4 ExD=20 dice. 13-2 = 11 sux.))

The corpse eater goes down, its leg cleanly severed. Slowly, painfully slowly, it tries to drag itself along - but it won’t go far. It’s clearly crippled. Its hunting style was made for an attack and retreat, never really getting in a real fight. Against something like Keris, it’s simply outmatched. It’s sinking down into the earth like a deflated bladder, losing its vital essence and stolen souls from the severed limb.

She can hear the howls and screams of the ghost pack behind her, too. And something which might be the twang of a bow.

The fight seems all but won, and it’s very nearly enough to fool her. Very nearly. But she’s just too good at thinking like this monster. She realises just in time that it’s just playing dead, letting phantasmal illusions conceal that it’s not really dying.

And thus the bit where it regrows its limb and leaps on her, teeth burning with pyreflame, doesn’t come as a surprise. Because that’s just what she’d do.

((Contested Phys + Melee roll to see who comes out on top.))

As a result, instead of an overconfident pursuer with her guard down now that she thinks she’s won; it meets a solid wall of whirling chain, fanged hair and flashing bone-china blades. Keris puts all eight limbs to work in a scything cyclone of death; timing it just so that it’s in mid-spring as she strikes and can’t abort its leap.

((Using Self-as-Cyclone Stance to enhance her roll with a flurry. Contested roll 5+5+3 Friagem Serpent+2 stunt+10 Adorjani ExD=25. Gah! 6 sux? Bah!))  
((By contrast, it was on 15 + 2 + <1 wp>, and rolled 11 successes.))  
((I think the way to resolve damage here is, heh, roll the difference in their successes as a damage pool. So I'm rolling 5B, for 3 bashing levels))

But she’s underestimated this thing. It’s not really an animal, not really, and in mid-air it twists like flowing fog and coils around her lance. Oh, her hair and teeth are there and Keris takes chunks out of it, but it just weighs massively more than she does and bowls her over, knocking her flying.

Keris skids backwards, tumbling over again and again until she hits one of the ice cold mountain pools that litter the landscape and breaks through the ice. The cold is a sledgehammer to her senses - worse because it comes through the shock of actually being hit - and for the first time in a long while she’s dazed. It’s a close thing, and if she weren’t so attuned to the water it might have gone badly for her. Even as is, she’s badly bruised from the impacts and several minor cuts have made it through her steel-hard skin; stinging painfully in the cold. She ignores them. This level of pain is something she’s long since learned how to tolerate.

Still, it’s been a _long_ time since something hurt her. The Hungry King was stronger than this undead beast, and he didn’t wound her with anything but the ice storm she subjected herself to so she could strike at him with Adrian’s memory. Four Dragonblooded boxed her in at Agenete, and _they_ didn’t manage to land a serious blow, for all their efforts at ambush and pursuit.

She wants to roast this corpse-eater over a blazing fire, but under the searing rage there’s a little respect mixed in for it as well. She’s more cautious as she rushes back in; ready to make more use of her Lance’s range and her quicker reflexes. But she’s more determined than ever to make her foe _bleed_.

Except she can’t. It’s fled. Of course it’s fled. And now Keris is left out here in the cold, trying to track where it’s gone when the weather is erasing every step of its tracks.

Oh, she is going to _gut_ this thing when she finds it.

Opening mouths on her feet and extending tongues from her hair, Keris races after it, seeking the taste of rot and death on the snow it’s running through. She _refuses_ to let this thing escape - it can’t be allowed to live after landing a hit on her before she’s managed to do lasting damage to it. She can only be relieved that nobody _saw_.

Well, besides Dulmea. But this isn’t an assassination, so she’s probably safe from critique in that corner.

((Contested Cog + Survival, -3 External penalty from inclimate weather for Keris, remember to account for wound penalties))  
((3+3+2 stunt+6 Malfeas ExD {hate, vengeance, wrath}, By Pain Reforged lets her ignore bashing wound penalties so 14 dice. 8-3=5 sux.))  
((12 dice, 6 successes. Keris loses the trail))

Soaking wet with icy water, bruised and hurting, and up against a cheating unfair bullshit Dead thing that runs away and doesn’t fight _properly_ … well, it temporarily escapes her. She’s sure it’s gone just at the point when the icy winds die down and the temperature feels almost warm. Almost. 

The worst thing is that she can sense several small shadowlands dotted across this landscape, from the sickly sounds they make in the chorus of the world. So that… that _thing_ has probably either found a place where lots of people have died, or maybe _made_ one. It’s got lots of boltholes it can run to, and since it’s now night if she chased it into the lands of the Dead, she wouldn’t be able to escape until dawn.

She’s nettled. She is super nettled. Also wet. And cold. And her clothes - because stupid _Rathan_ has her amulet - are just mundane fabrics, which means they are _literally_ freezing solid on her. She is going to kill things. She is going to kill every last one of those stupid twisted souls and…

Keris finds that Calesco has, in fact, been busy. The landscape is littered with arrows. A few impaled husks of the twisted souls are still oozing away down the shafts of white-fletched arrows.

((I wasn’t going to have this happen off screen, but, uh, Calesco rolled 14 successes on 13 dice. So, uh, she was probably stealing all of Keris’ luck.))

Her daughter descends from on high, with black wings out-spread.

((Rolled Valor 2 - 2 successes. Rolled Compassion 4 - 4 successes.))

Keris is _seething_ and _furious_ and frustrated enough that she even wants to snap at her daughter for being more successful than her. But she forces the rage down - barely - and manages an expression that might not be in any way happy, but at least probably communicates pride and congratulations.

“Well done,” she says honestly. “I didn’t want to let the real threat get away - it managed it _anyway_ , the little _shit_ , because apparently it can _grow back legs_ \- but you did incredibly well putting the spirits it twisted to rest.” She reaches out for Calesco and winces at the sound of ice cracking. “Uh, I’ll save your victory hug for when I’m not covered in ice and it won’t freeze you half to death.” She snarls. “And after that I’m tempted to wait for tomorrow night so we can track down that _thing_ when it ventures out of whatever shadowland it fled to and we can put it down properly.”

((Calesco tracking roll - 5 successes))

Calesco ignores Keris, and comes in to hug her despite that, rubbing her arms and legs with her own. Keris appreciates the gesture, but it’s lost in what comes next.

“When I was fighting those ghosts,” Calesco says, “I caught sight of some of the red thread again. It branched off this road here, and headed into the wooded area a little down the valley. I… I didn’t follow it,” she adds, hanging her head. “I had to stop the ghosts from hurting anyone.”

Keris’s eyes widen. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. That... that might mean we’re getting close, if it’s left the main road. Where’s the ship? We’ll have them anchor and then we can both do a careful search now that the storm’s gone and pick the trail back up. We know where it’s going now; that’s a good start for re-finding... it...”

Calesco is lying. She’s avoiding Keris’ gaze. She’s looking at her feet.

Her daughter is lying to her when she says she didn’t follow it.

“... isn’t it, Calesco?” she prompts, a horrible feeling settling in her gut. There are very, very few reasons for Calesco to be lying to her about this. “Unless we already know where it goes. Where did it lead?” She waits for a moment as her daughter stays silent. “Calesco; _where did it lead?_ ”

Calesco swallows. “To the truth,” she says, sadly, wringing her hands together. “To my kind of truth.”

Keris...

Keris crumples. She can’t even manage tears.

It had been so very like her. It had fought the same way, acted the same way. It had fled rather than fight, like her. It had been of Harborite blood, like her. It had been an ambush predator, a survivor, a lone hunter with hundreds and hundreds of kills under its belt. Like her.

It had - she lets out a choked little chuckle - it had even managed to surprise and outwit something much stronger than itself; get the drop on a superior opponent and escape something that should have killed it.

So much like her.

Like mother, like daughter.

Curling up into a ball in the snow, Keris quietly starts to cry.

Calesco eases her up, half-carries her down the blood-red thread that runs through the snow from the path.

There’s a tree at on the edge of the forest, leafless in the winter.

The rotten fragments of a rope hang from it.

Down underneath the tree - under the snow, when Keris madly digs - lie a few jumbled bones. The animals have long since gnawed them clean. There’s a broken skull; scattered ribs, fragments of a pelvis. There’s rotten cloth there, too, degraded by over a decade of exposure.

And there’s something else, something Keris only sees when she concentrates. A spectral form still hangs from the tree; eyes bulging, face black, jaw moving.

“Come closer,” the ghost breathily whispers, a croak. “Come closer. Let me down.”

Keris takes a sudden breath of shock - a sharp, shuddering gasp. She steps closer; hands empty, hair limp.

“M-mama,” she says in a small voice. “Mama, i-it’s me. It’s Keris. Do you... do you remember me?”

There are sobs choked up in her throat; struggling to get out. She can feel the tears freezing as they run down her face.

“Keris…” Maryam’s ghost whispers to the wind. “M-my daughter Keris? You… how long has it been? They… they hanged me, Keris. Because I stabbed a guard and tried to escape. But the old wound in my leg played up. They beat me nearly to death, then hanged me as an example to the others. Keris, if you are my Keris, let me down. All the Malrans have to die. They killed me, Keris. I _need_ revenge. I need to make them choke. I need to watch their faces turn blue. Let me down, Keris.”

A soft, hurt whimper escapes Keris as her mother speaks. “Seventeen years,” she whispers, stepping forward again, blind and deaf to the world around her; unaware of anything but the spectral form hanging from the branch. “I spent two as a slave in Nexus before I escaped. Twelve more on the streets before I was raised up and Chosen after getting caught again. I have power now, mama. That’s how I found Ali and Zanyira, and killed the Vakotans who were choking the town. That’s how I killed the naib - the brother of the one who let the Malrans raid us.”

Another step closer. “I have children of my own now, mama. And Ali does as well; you’re a grandmother twice... t-twice over.” The tears overcome her for a moment as her head bows. “I w-wanted...” she forces out, “I wanted to f-find you before the birth so you could... so you could hold them.”

She’s barely a step away now. Close enough to reach out and touch. “I wanted to rescue you,” she whispers; heartbroken.

Calesco is there behind Keris, wrapping her hands around Keris from behind, resting her head against her back in a hug - and obviously coincidentally pinning her arms with her hair. “I’m sorry you had to see this, mama,” Calesco whispers in Old Realm. “But you couldn’t have done a thing.”

“You can rescue me,” Maryam whispers, in that same choked voice. “Cut me down, Keris. We can get our revenge. You and me. Let me down, Keris. We’ll kill them. We’ll choke the breath from their lungs. Until every last one is dead. You know what they wanted from us? They wanted slaves for their silver mines. They ruined our family for their silver, so they could be rich. We’ll strangle them. We’ll drown them. We’ll leave them gasping for their last breath which won’t come. Come on, my daughter. Let me down. I’ve been up here for such a long time. They didn’t even bury me. They wouldn’t let my husband cut me down. They left me hanging like meat, and left my bones for the animals. They have to die. You have to let me down.”

“You wouldn’t want to become someone like that,” Calesco breathes into her mother’s back. “Yes, you need to punish the people who did it, but she’s a ghost. Remember how Kerisa is, and Kerisa just wants her parents back. She just wants to strangle people, like she was strangled. And she’ll keep on wanting this.”

Keris stands there; poised between her mother’s ghost and her daughter-spirit. Between the pain of the past and the family of the future. Between her ties to her homeland and the new life she’s carved for herself.

She... she can’t make this choice now. She can’t give up on either of them. Not completely. Calesco speaks reason, but she can’t send her mother on; not while her father might still labour in a slave mine and the people who did this go unpunished.

But maybe there’s another way.

“You want me to let you down,” Keris breathes to her mother, not moving to cut the rope - yet. “You want flesh to take your vengeance with; you want your bones honoured and your murderers slain.” She knows she’s right - not just from the obvious signs, but she can _feel_ the force of Maryam’s want; the terrible thirst for revenge.

“If I cut you down and let you go, you’d only have mortals to wear,” Keris pleads. “So don’t choose that. Take me. Let _me_ host you. You can see your grandchildren, say goodbye to Xasan, you can be there when we rescue father and kill the slavers who did this. And... and m-maybe that will be enough. Maybe... maybe you can b-be happy then, mama. Will you promise that? Not to go your own way? To Ride my body, instead of stealing someone else’s? To see if the slavers will sate your vengeance, before you go further?”

Dangling, hands limp, Maryam’s filmy spectre stares down at her daughter with bulging eyes. “It is… good for a daughter to get revenge for her mother’s murder,” she says, eventually. “And it is good for someone to get revenge for themselves. Keris, my baby, let me down. Let me in. We’ll strangle the life out of the ones who murdered me. Their silver won’t save them.”

Keris rests a hand on Calesco’s, gently dislodging her daughter’s arms from around her.

“Like you and Kuha,” she murmurs. “And I’ll remember what you said about going too far.”

And then her arm snaps out, her spear flickering in and out of existence just long enough to cut. The rope falls; severed cleanly at the branch, and Keris catches her mother’s ghost as she drops.

But there’s no substance to her, even when Keris tries to touch her. She doesn’t feel solid to the touch - she flows in, through the palms of Keris’s hands and the skin of her throat and the grey of her eyes.

For the second time in her young life, Keris opens the gates of her body and lets a mother-spirit in.

((So, mechanically this is a Total Control effect where Maryam takes over Keris’ body. By default, Keris would black out and be kept unconscious while she’s being controlled, but since she’s Enlightenment 2+ she retains consciousness if she wants, locked in her own body (she can optionally black out for bits if you want). If Maryam’s actions threaten any of her Principles, she can spend 1wp to regain control for an action, or if the Principle is rated 3+ she regains control for a scene. Once she has spent 5wp resisting things, she can try for a contested roll to force the ghost out - this is where the exorcist would help things out  
She's also possessing Keris' body, not her mind. As a result, in this case, Keris can probably croak out words as a "sub 1wp" kind of resistance because of her enlightenment.))

Her mother sinks into her bones and into her blood and into her flesh. Keris feels light-headed, and even though she doesn’t need to breathe, she’s choking! She can feel something around her neck, pulling so tight that she almost blacks out. The world greys and she reflexively scrabbles at her throat with her hair and hands - but of course there’s no real rope there.

There’s something in here, in her body. Her legs don’t move when she tells them to, and even her hands won’t respond anymore. Keris watches as her arms move on their own, lifted up shakingly as she looks at them - and then she even loses control of her eyeballs and someone else is looking around.

Keris’ body wheezes, gasping for breath. “It’s been so long,” her mouth says for her, her accent not her own. “Warm blood and a heartbeat.” She stands there, wheezing slowly, as her body slowly flexes its hands. “What happened to you, Keris? This isn’t how a human body feels. I think. It’s been so long.”

Keris’ body is whirled around, and Calesco gazes ferociously up at her mother-grandmother. “If you _think_ of hurting her or anyone else who doesn’t deserve it, I will _hurt you until you leave her body_ ,” Calesco hisses. “I know what she can survive. And I will make you suffer until it hurts so much you get out of her. Do you understand me, _grandmother_?”

“Daughter,” croaks Keris, forcing a word out through the noose and the greyness and the overwhelming weight of her mother’s will. “Truth.”

Her body steps back as she goes under again, blinking in surprise. Maybe Maryam wasn’t expecting a granddaughter on the verge of womanhood already. Or maybe she can just tell what Calesco is.

“Oh, didn’t you realise?” Calesco asks, in a tone as sickly sweet as the dregs of the honey from her beehives. “Your daughter is now a princess of the demon realm, _grandmother_ \- and I am her heart, spun out from her being as a creature in her own right. I am one of her souls, just like you’re just half the woman you once were.” Calesco’s features blur, and she weaves a new lie for her face, one that more resembles Keris than her usual self - even if she’s a little paler. This time her red veil is pinned over her hair, tinting her hair redder. “This is my true self,” she lies. “And, _grandmother_ , mother has a pair of newborns to look after and if my little brother and sister suffer because of you, that’s where I start hurting her to get you out.” Her bow is in her hand in the blink of an eye. “I can do that. I am a demon lord, while you’re just a lonely, sad ghost.”

“A demon,” Maryam croaks, stepping back and standing on Keris’ hair. Keris feels the uncomfortable feeling of her hair lying wet and heavy behind her, dragging on the ground, because her mother doesn’t know how to control it. “My Keris is not a mother of a demon spawn.”

“No, she’s not,” Calesco says, in that same too-sweet tone. “She’s a mother to a lot more than one. And takes her lover from among the ranks of the princesses of hell. And consorts with the greatest powers of the demon realm. Hell is part of her, part of _us_. If that’s a problem for you, _grandmother_ , you should probably get out of her body right now and let us get on with our lives.”

Maryam balls Keris’ hands up. “They murdered me, demon. And Keris is _my_ daughter. She understands that me and her, we both need our revenge. I _died_. She lost her mother and I couldn’t be there for her. We’re going to get our revenge. I would do it for either of my children. I don’t care what Keris has done, if she does her part as a proper daughter. A daughter never rests while her mother’s killer still walks the earth.” She wraps her arms around herself. “I didn’t think she’d ever need to follow the ways from the Old Country, but they’re still part of her blood. No wonder her body welcomed me in. We _need_ this, in our bone and blood,” she snarls, a choked gasping sound.

Locked behind her eyes, bound in her bones, Keris watches and listens and tries not to panic. Partly at the still-choking sensation of not being able to breathe, which is taking a lot of effort to stave off and not start screaming at. And partly at how the conversation is rapidly going downhill. Calesco is scared; she can hear it in her daughter’s cutting barbs and deliberate provocations. She’s trying to find a dealbreaker; something that will be too much for her grandmother’s ghost to accept, that will mean she doesn’t have to deal with Maryam wearing her mother’s form for the next few days or weeks. Part of Keris feels shamefully guilty for not thinking of that and for scaring her daughter with what she’s done.

The rest, what little remains outside the walled-off panic and the shame, is trying to think of what she can force out to defuse the situation. She can get one or two words out, if she tries, but her mother was a wilful woman in life and seventeen years hanging from a branch have turned her mind into something with the force of a battering ram.

“Xasan,” is what she chooses to gasp before Calesco can loose another verbal arrow. “Nearby. With Rathan.”

Hopefully her mother will see her brother as an ally in her vengeance - and Calesco will want her brother’s charm and placating words as backup in keeping Maryam under control. Hopefully, more voices will make a fight less likely, and more ties to her family will settle Maryam’s bloodlust to a simmer rather than a boil.

Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully. Keris resigns herself to a lot of hoping.

“Xasan?” She can hear the shock in her mother’s voice, even as it’s forced out through her vocal chords. “He’s here? He’s still alive?” Her expression twists into a ghoulish grin. “Good. Family understands. Family looks for vengeance. He’ll understand.” 

“He does,” Calesco says, sulkily. “All too much.”

That seems to have overcome any trace of Maryam’s doubts, and Keris is unpleasantly reminded of how Kerisa can also completely shrug off any kind of objection to her plan to find her parents. 

Unspeakable Blue, she’s glad she left Kerisa’s bones back on the ship. She’d have been terrified by the corpse-eating monster.

“All right,” Maryam croaks. She heads back to the tree, and starts to scrabble in the snow, not caring about the burning cold that’s hurting Keris’ hands. “We’ll take my bones, and the rope. When the time comes, when we’ve got revenge, when all of them die choking, we’ll give me a proper funeral pyre. I’m not going back to this place while that monster stalks around my tree. I’ve spent far too long here.”

She’s not using her hair, Keris realises. In fact, she’s not sure her mother realises her hair can move at all - and given it came from Dulmea, she might not be able to move it even if she did. It’s a weird feeling; the way it drags across the ground without the strength or rippling motion she’s so used to. Maryam might be wearing her body, but she doesn’t know how to use it.

It’s nearly half an hour after the pine-ship has landed when a black shape falls from the sky and lands on the bow spike; wings outspread. The people on deck look at her expectantly, but Calesco’s red eyes are focused off to port, where a small figure trudges up through the snow at a shuffling walk. It carries something in its arms, and its long hair drags behind it across the ice; snarled and tangled and sodden.

Worried and confused, the ship’s crew clustered at the railing to meet the redheaded woman. She’s acting oddly. Instead of skipping up onboard effortlessly, she has to climb; helped by her daughter. There are bones in her arms, bound together with a rotted rope, and brassy scabs and bruises all over her body. A deep, ugly, purpling mark wraps all the way around her throat.

“Mama?” asks Rathan tentatively. The woman stares at him, a startled glance flickering over to Calesco for a second and meeting an expressionless nod.

“What happened?” asks Xasan, frowning. On him, the woman’s gaze lingers, taking in the weight he hasn’t quite finished working off from his time as a cripple, the age lines around his eyes and the familiar cast of his face.

She speaks, in a voice that isn’t hers.

“Hello big brother,” she says.


	3. Chapter 3

Xasan pauses, eyes wide. “What?” he demands gruffly. “What’re you up to, Keris?”

“Not... just me,” Keris forces out. “Maryam.”

Xasan freezes up. Leaning against the wall, his dark face turns almost grey with shock. “What?” he croaks.

“What?!” demands Rathan, rather more hotly.

“Mama is an idiot who decided ‘oh, you know what I should do, I should let myself get possessed’!” Calesco contributes.

“And you didn’t stop her?!”

“Believe me, I tried! I really tried!” she snaps back at her brother.

“Keris is a good girl,” Maryam says, snatching back control of Keris’s mouth with a force just short of painful. She ignores her grandchildren; focused entirely on Xasan. “The blood of the Old Country runs in her veins. A daughter never rests while her mother’s killer walks the world. She knew that, even if she was never taught. You know it too, Xasan. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” he croaks. “But... but.” He takes a deep breath, and tries a nervous, even foolish grin. “It’s something out of a story. And not all such stories end well.” He steps up to Keris’ slight form, shaking. “You’re... you. You’re talking like you, not like... like she does. She sounds Nexan. You’re... you.”

“They hanged me, Xasan,” Maryam says; Harborite syllables tripping off a Nexan tongue. “Because I tried to run. My old wound played up, and they caught me, and hanged me from a tree. They left me there to rot. They wouldn’t let my husband cut me down. They need to pay.” Keris feels her face twist into that ghoulish grin again as her hands come up, throttling the air with dreadful strength. “All of them need to pay. Keris is helping me get revenge. And when they’re all dead; when we’ve left them choking and breathless and blue-lipped, then we can build my funeral pyre. But not before. Not until we’ve had our vengeance; my daughter and I.”

Rathan’s face is distraught, then hardens. But Xasan sees nothing of that. “Hah, yes,” he says without any humour. “Everything’s been a tale since Keris showed up - why not this too? I came with her to look for revenge for you. I haven’t had my revenge yet - and neither have you. We’ll take it together!”

((dammit xasan))

Locked behind her own eyes, Keris is the one to notice her son’s distress. She tries to force another word out, but she bounces off the iron walls of Maryam’s mind as her mother draws her uncle into a hug.

Keris is the only one to notice how her fingers twitch towards his neck.

“Rathan,” she manages to push through; fuelled by a burst of panic. It was only a twitch, nothing more, but it was enough to want her hands away from any throats that aren’t a slaver’s. “Calesco.”

Smiling, innocent, happy; Rathan is there, eyes almost glowing faintly with a peaceful pink. “So you’re our grandmother?” he asks, coming in to wrap his hair and one arm around her shoulders in a hug. “It’s just wonderful to meet you, in the... well, in mama’s flesh.” He’s turning up the charm.

((14 successes worth of charm, in fact, goddamnit Rathan so many 10s))

And Calesco is there too, and she’s peeling Xasan away. And she’s strong - very strong, strong in a way Keris almost isn’t sure she’s seen before from her seemingly fragile daughter. Is it just that Keris is weaker in some way when she’s possessed, or does Calesco hide what she can do and never really extert herself?

Maryam freezes, and then she wavers. In the face of Rathan’s relentless... Rathan-ness, she wavers. “You call me grandmother,” she says, looking him up and down. Or, really, up and more up. “But... how old are you?”

“Nearly two,” Rathan says easily. “Calesco there is my baby half-sister. She’s... have you had your birthday yet, Cally? Are you one yet?”

“Hate you,” Calesco says, with a glare that doesn’t feel quite genuine to Keris’ eyes.

“And I hate you too, baby sis.”

“Stop calling me a baby.”

“Stop acting like one in front of our grandmother.” Rathan gives her a little mock bow. “Now, unlike Calesco, I’m Keris’ familiar spirit that’s all in favour of _justice_ \- and revenge is part of justice. So, who are we punishing? This might be easier if you leave mama’s body, or at least let her have control again so she can feed the babies.” He gives a pitiful look. “They’ve been crying and they’re very loud.”

Maryam blinks. “The... babies?” she asks.

“Twins,” Keris whispers. She doesn’t need to force it out. There’s almost no resistance at all; Maryam’s grip slackening in shock. “Kali and Ogin.”

“Oh yes,” Rathan says. “They’re very little, you know. Mama only gave birth a few days ago. So if you can, see if you can slide out of her body so she can get the feeding done - oh, and maybe they need changing too - while we can talk about justice. Because they’ll be very loud and annoying if they’re not fed.” He glances at the bones Keris-Maryam is still carrying. “We can find a place for you, too.”

“No.” Maryam’s voice is a croak. “The sun is down. I need my revenge.”

“The sun is... well, be as that may, but I’m the captain of this ship,” Rathan puffs his chest out, “and if we’re looking for justice, I need directions. So helping me with that doesn’t really need mama’s body, does it?”

((Reaction+... Politics? What’s the roll to guess at how stubborn Maryam is likely to be here?))  
((Yes. That roll, Diff 3.))  
((5+1+2 Coadj+2 stunt=10. 6 sux. Is she going to dig her heels in?))  
((As far as Keris can tell from what she’s seen of her, Rathan is being a smug little savant at Politics and Persuasion and the like and is going for ‘you’ll get your revenge faster if you help me now, plus we’ll help your body’ which is a very focused and direct way of playing on her wants.))  
((Hee. Hmm. Yeah, okay, no technical _need_ to spend 1wp to force back control for an action and add Keris’s voice to the discussion. But, hmm...))

It’s working, as far as Keris can tell. Just like his father, Rathan is good at saying what people want to hear, and Maryam is already a little charmed by him. But her children are still worried - especially if they’re trying so hard to convince her mother to leave her - and Keris wouldn’t mind a little reassurance herself. Is this what it was like for Dulmea, for all those long months before Keris opened up her soul inside and made a world there?

“Yes,” Dulmea says softly; catching the edge of the thought. There’s something unreadable in her voice. “Very much like it, child.”

If Keris could shudder, she would. But she can’t. Which is what she wants reassurance on. Her mother’s will has the force of a battering ram, but Keris is by far the more powerful of the two. Taking a deep mental breath, she throws herself upwards as a wind, a tidal wave, a stone-splitting root, and _pulls_ her body back to herself.

It’s like balancing on a knife-edge. But she can suddenly breathe again.

“Mama,” she says, and there’s no forcing it out; the words flow from her tongue with ease. “You’re a welcome guest in my body when we need to kill the slavers, but they’re not here now. I welcomed you in once; I won’t refuse you when the time comes to kill them.”

Her last word is clipped off at the end, as her balance wobbles just a little and she’s pulled back under Maryam’s control. But now she knows she can do it. She can take back control by force, if she ever must - if they face something Maryam can’t defeat, or if her mother’s drive for vengeance goes too far and turns towards an innocent.

From the slight relief on their faces; her children know it too.

With that said and done, it’s quick for Keris to talk with Xasan and her mother’s ghost for how a body should be kept before burning, and build an appropriate place down below decks where the sun never shines. The wood of the ship is easy for Keris to reshape into an appropriate coffin - and the old worn skull and broken bones are much more presentable when covered with a carved wooden deathmask and clothing woven from leaves.

Maryam agrees to slip from Keris’ body and sleep in her own skeleton when they’re in the air, on the condition that Rathan visits her. She seems to have decided that Rathan is her ally, unlike Calesco.

“Which is what he wants her to believe,” Calesco says darkly as she plays with Ogin, tickling his tails as Keris tries to coax Kali back into being a little girl rather than a fluffy chick so she can feed. “Rathan likes revenge. But he doesn’t want you hurt, and we both see the bruises around your throat. It hurts you to have her in you.”

“It doesn’t hurt mu-” begins Keris, and Calesco levels her with a glare so cutting that it almost breaks skin. “Okay, fine, yes, it hurts,” she admits. “But she’s right, is the thing. The slavers in the mines are still slaving, still killing, still causing suffering. And they left her there. She deserves revenge; they need to be brought to justice, and... and I’m hoping that if she gets those then she can pass on peacefully.” She rubs at her throat and blinks a few times. “She deserves that. She deserves so much more than that, too, but that I can maybe give her.” Attempting a smile as she cradles Kali to her chest and bounces her gently, Keris looks up at Calesco. “Didn’t you say something about putting up with a little pain to help those I love?”

“That’s different!” Calesco snaps, and Ogin looks at her with wide silver eyes, fearful. Calesco lifts him up, hugging him tight as she pets his tails. “It’s different,” she repeats, firmly but more softly.

Kali _finally_ shifts - back to human, thankfully - and Keris sighs in relief, coaxing her to suckle. It’s not quite a comfortable sensation, but it’s calming and lulling, and makes her feel so full of affection for the little lives she’s created that she sometimes checks that she’s not glowing from it.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” she says after a few moments, beckoning Calesco closer with her free hand. “Come here. You were amazing with the yidak and you handled your grandmother perfectly. I’m proud of you, and sorry I scared you, and you deserve a hug.”

Calesco gratefully sinks into the hug, wrapping her arms around Keris, and she finds her daughter is shaking slightly. It’s hard to remember sometimes that Calesco is younger than Aiko and was only born a few days after the twins were concieved.

And she’s thinking the same thing as she plays with her half-brother. “It’s my birthday on the 27th,” she says. “You and my Other Mother chose a day there the moon is just the tiniest fragment in the darkness, you know. And you might not even be you for that. Did you hear what she said? I think your mother can only control you at night, when the sun isn’t up.”

((... a tiny sliver of light in the darkness. That wasn't even intentional when we had it happen. _Man_ , we’re good.))

“That day, I’ll be me,” Keris promises stroking her hair and accepting Ogin into her other arm, where he cuddles into her and his sister. “Even if it means stopping for the day. Do you want to do anything? Celebrate? Get a special gift?”

Calesco sniffs, rubbing her eyes. “I want to be home,” she mutters. “Not just... not just the Meadows, though I miss it and my friends and how... how things are peaceful there. But I want to be _home_. Back in the South West. Away from this... this _horrible_ country where every village is sad and there’s all these things I can’t even begin to fix and I know we’re going to leave and I’ll have seen it all but I can’t change any of it.” She leans into Keris more, enduring as Ogin chews on a lock of her hair. “But you can’t give me that, so... so just keep my girls safe and... and...” she smiles weakly. “I’ll pretend to be Haneyl and say you should save it up and we can have it somewhere that isn’t so _cold_.”

“We can do that,” Keris murmurs, holding her close. “And we can free the slaves at the mines, and patch up their wounds, too. And when we’re back in the Southwest we can start setting things up that will help people. What would you like to see there? Maybe a hospital? An orphanage?”

“Maybe,” Calesco says, stroking Kali’s hair and smiling as the two little sticky-up locks grip onto her finger. “But I’m going home first, back to the Meadows. Kuha deserves to have her body back. And she deserves a lot of bed rest for how hard we’ve been pushing things. She’s really nice and kind and actually quite funny and she’s teaching me bits of her language when we dream together and...”

Keris notices that Calesco is blushing. It’s much more obvious now she’s wearing this appearance that looks much more like Keris does, with paler skin.

“... wait,” she says slowly, an awful realisation slowly dawning. “Are... are you two...” Calesco may not even be a year old yet, but in form she’s not that much younger than Rathan - and _he_ spends almost all his time with Oula attached to his hip, now. Curiosity wars with mortification. “You and Kuha are... actually no. No. Don’t answer that.” Keris shakes her head hard enough to dislodge Kali, who lets out an annoyed wail before Keris guides her mouth back. “I don’t want to know, please don’t tell me any more,” she says firmly. “Just... I mean... don’t... no, no, never mind, I really don’t want to know.”

“We’re not!” Calesco blurts out, hands going to her cheeks and her blush consuming her entire face. “Honestly, we’re not! But she’s pretty and nice and funny and she’s so confident and just does what she wants to do...”

Keris pretends not to feel relieved. “Okay,” she nods. “Okay, goo- uh, right. Fine. Can she hear us at the moment, or... no, you wouldn’t have said it if she was awake. We can talk, then, if you want to. You... like her.”

“I don’t know if I like her, or I... I want to be more like her,” Calesco mutters. “But she’s... I like how she’s so assured. I’m not... she doesn’t hide who she is away.”

Keris nods. “You could try hiding a bit less, maybe? Not baring everything, but... actually, when I visited Vali - for the talk we had with Dulmea - he was repairing one of your dovecotes, up in the clouds. There were rocks there with your starlight in them - have you been practicing letting things out a bit?”

“I... I tried,” Calesco says, looking away. “But it makes things explode. And hurts the rocks.”

Ogin seems to sense her distress, babbling something and winding a tail around her wrist. Keris smiles fondly at him, hugs Calesco a little tighter, and then frowns as something occurs to her. “Wait, how’d that not get noticed by the whole of the Spires? Vali didn’t seem to know what you were doing there, and your light is... pretty noticeable.”

“Well, it was inside the birdhouse he made for me,” Calesco protests. “I wasn’t doing it in public! And Vali... well, he builds everything bigger and more thick than he has to. The walls were probably more solid than my cave!”

“Point,” Keris allows. “I wonder if the clouds might help, too? They draw from the Dragon, just like you do.” She taps Calesco’s forehead with a hair-tendril, just where the coiled dragon mark would be on her true form. “Were you letting all of your light out, or just some of it? Because I remember... I remember when we argued about Orabilis. Your light was bleeding through your robes, but it wasn’t a torrent, it didn’t strip away your shadows completely. You were just... balanced between the two.”

Calesco huffs. “I don’t know how Haneyl balances in the middle,” she says irritably. “I can’t sustain it. And...”

There’s a knock at the door. Keris can hear Rathan and Oula outside.

Giving Calesco a quick kiss on the forehead, Keris deposits Ogin back in her arms to give her extra cuddling. “We’ll talk later, okay?” she whispers, then raises her voice. “Come in; it’s open!”

Rathan sweeps in. He has used the amulet to give him a longer fur cloak so he can sweep more effectively. Oula is of course clinging onto his arm. With a flounce, Rathan slumps down onto one of the seats in this small private quarters on the ship. “Urgh,” he says. “She really goes on. Look at the sacrifices I make for you two ladies.”

“Tell them what I did, Rathan,” Oula insists.

“I’ll get to it,” he says. “So, what have you been up to up here? Have you nearly finished buying us a few more hours of not crying? Can I hold Ogin?”

“Yes, but be careful; he’s got a full belly,” Keris warns. “Had his fill while this one was hopping around pecking at our fingers. So don’t jostle him too much or it might come back up.” She allows Rathan to scoop Ogin off her and Calesco’s lap, letting him wind four or five tails around his elder brother’s wrist.

Rathan has a slightly foolish smile on his face as he supports Ogin’s head. “I never got to do this with Vali,” he says. “He just showed up. I was the only one who was an actual baby. Much as Haneyl likes to remind me of it.”

Oula pokes him.

“Yes, yes. Go ahead, Oula.”

Oula clasps her hands together, and bows to Keris. “So, Aunty Keris,” she says, “I went to look at things! With Cissidy. Because we needed to look ahead.”

“... good plan,” Keris congratulates her, slightly embarrassed that she didn’t think of that. “What did you find?”

“The land is getting taller ahead but also flatter,” Oula says. “It’s sort of like how the Spires goes into the Ruin. We’re almost out of the Spires-like bit. Up ahead, the land’s a lot flatter. There’s a lot of flat land where there are animals walking around on the snow. There’s also tall forests, but the trees aren’t like the Swamp. They’re thin and tall and have very thin leaves which are green even though it’s cold. There’s also a town up ahead, which has walls. The buildings in the town have plants growing on them, and there are lights which aren’t fire lighting up all the streets. But I also saw other things flying out there. They weren’t animals or spirits. They were more like this airship, only they were much smaller, and they had humans on them.”

“Lights that aren’t fire...” Keris mutters. “And airships? Or air somethings... hmm. How far ahead was this, at our current speed?”

“I’m not sure,” Oula admits. “It’s hard to tell when you’re on Cissidy because she moves so fast. But it wasn’t that far ahead. Cissidy said she could just about see our flame from where we could see them in the distance, but I couldn’t see them.” She bows again. “Sorry, Aunty Keris - I’m not used to the distances there are out here yet. Everything’s so big compared to back home, and there’s a long way between things that are interesting.”

That makes Keris chuckle, but she sobers quickly. “Okay, in that case I think I need to go take a look for myself, and we should anchor far enough that they won’t spot us. Lights without fire might mean magic, and other airships are worrying; they’re meant to be rare in these parts.” She pauses delicately, unsure of how to broach the question. “About... about mama. Maryam.”

“Should I call her great-aunt?” Oula wonders, rather missing the tone.

“Yes, mama?” Rathan asks.

“... I’m sorry if I scared you, hosting her,” Keris decides on. “I apologised to Calesco already, and I’m apologising to you too. But she’s my mama - or she was my mama, in life - and I love her, and she deserves to balance the scales before...” she gulps, “... before going on to Lethe. Which I... I guess I h-hope she will. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t there for me. She would have been if she could have been. And she deserves peace, and as a vengeful ghost she won’t have that.”

“I’ll be with you all the way,” Rathan says cheerfully. “I’ll make sure to help you do the right thing.”

“And I’ll also be with you,” Calesco says. “You know why I’m here.” She pauses. “Should I come with you? Or do you want me to stay here and watch the babies? I could also look after Kerisa too. After meeting your mother,” she smiles a little cruelly, “I realise what a good girl she is.”

“I think we should keep Kerisa and my mother apart,” Keris says firmly, letting the barb pass. “Half because I think Maryam would scare her, and half because I don’t want her getting any ideas about bodyhopping. If you could stay here and look after the babies, I won’t be gone long - just enough to scout out the town ahead. Rathan, I might ask you to change course or put us down for a while when I get back, depending on what I find.”

“As you wish, mama,” Rathan says. “It’s night, so you can probably get in and out.”

“Do you mean you’ll be taking your mother with you?” Calesco demands.

Keris considers. “... no,” she says slowly. “No, I don’t think so. All I want for the moment is to see what we’re heading towards. If it turns out to be the mine, we’ll land and make our way closer with her, but she never reached Malra so she won’t know what it looks like. And she can’t use my stealth or speed properly, and I’ll need both for a scouting trip.”

Calesco nods. “Good. I don’t want you going out without me to keep an eye on you.” She glances. “Or Rathan. I suppose.”

“Love you too, baby sister.”

“Stop it.”

Keris’s mouth twitches. They still bicker, but Rathan and Calesco seem to be less at one another’s throats now than they were before this trip. It’s almost cute to watch.

With a whistle, Keris calls for Cissidy. Pausing only to kiss all four of her children goodbye and firmly instructing Calesco on how to make sure the two babies can hug each other, she mounts her ribbon horse and rides off into the night. She’s wearing her second favourite set of clothes, because the yidak monster ruined her favourite, and she decides there and then she probably wants to steal some more clothes from the town when she’s down there.

There’s no moon due to the clouds, but Keris can see the strange unflickering lights of the town up ahead. It’s built into a hillside she sees as she gets closer, and the stone wall is high and well maintained, with peculiarly tall and wide towers that catch her eye. The top of the towers are likewise covered in rows of these lights.

((About how far is her airship from the town?))  
((A fair distance - maybe 10km))

“Wait here,” she whispers to Cissidy, slipping off her steed outside the walls and onto a pine tree; slipping down it and making her way ahead on foot. She wants a better look at those lights. And the flying vessels Oula had seen.

The towers and the walls are both sandstone. Up in the highlands here, the rocks are different. She thinks the wall of the place was made with sorcery, just like the Lookshyians made their wall. Someone built this all around this town. She doesn’t think this is Malra, either - she’s still too far east and this town is small compared to Terema.

And the lights! They’re not fire - Oula was right there. They seem to be some kind of crystal, that glows all manner of colours. Most of the lights in the town are a soft yellow, but the ones on top of the tower are white. Keris remembers tales she heard in Terema about the wonders of the capital and how they’d kept secrets of the ancient Dragon Kings.

And Oula also pointed out that the buildings had plants growing on them, and she’s right there too. They’re not just ivy, though. They seem to have been tamed, or coaxed to grow like this. The combined lack of torches and the plants mean this town smells incredibly sweet and fresh. There’s not even any sewage in the air. And running around the back there’s an adqueduct and...

Keris shakes her head. Someone put a lot of money into making this a pretty town. A lot of money and a lot of effort and a lot of skilled craftsmen.

Up above her there’s a sound of canvas and wood, flapping in the wind, and something comes in to land on the long raised tower. It’s some kind of... mechanical bird, made from wood and canvas with its nose carved into the shape of a beak and a feather-pattern painted on its flapping wings!

Eyes wide with wonder, she zigzags up the tower wall in a series of short, sharp bursts that end with her crouched just below the lip, clinging to the edge with hair and fingers as she listens to the wind play over the thing.

There’s a wide flat area on top of this tower, with... it’s like a stable for these wooden birds. They land here, on the perches set up for their articulated claws, and there are men inside them. Men and women inside them, wrapped up until they’re almost spherical for warmth and wearing glass eye-coverings, pulling levers and pulleys to make the wings flap and coordinate the movement.

((She’ll need to sneak closer if she wants to get a closer look at the canvasbirds))

Edging up onto the tower proper, Keris huddles down low, letting the dark hide her. There are coiled ropes and covered baskets here and there - supplies for the birds, probably - and she makes herself nothing more than an indistinct shape-among-shapes as she creeps closer. A silly grin steals over her face at the clever machines as she picks apart how they must work.

((Physique + Stealth to get in, Diff 3 since there’s plenty of people around but it’s also night and there’s shadows to lurk in  
Cog + Occult to study them - Diff 5 due to unfamiliarity and having to do it from concealment))  
((5+5+3 Lurking Predator Style+2 stunt=15. Gah. 3 sux. Barely scraped it. Damn, Keris.  
3+5+2 stunt+4 Metagaos ExD {lurks in plain sight, seize information, cannot abstain}=14. Uh, wow. 13 sux. All the luck from the other roll went into this one, it seems.))  
((dammit keris too curious))

She’s nearly too curious for her own good. She’s so fascinated by these canvas-winged birds that she’s nearly caught when one of the pilots sees something moving in the shadows right _below_ their bird.

Oh, but these things are just so beautiful. They’re wood and canvas and rope that immitates life! Their ropes are knotted in beautiful magical knots that allow thin cords to have the strength of muscle and which never fray. The feather patterns on their wings are each a prayer strip to the wind gods and the elementals of the sky, calling favourable winds to them. Their wood is brightly painted and treated with all kinds of things.

It’s not Keris’ style of art, but it’s so beautiful. Whoever came up with this design was a genius. And this tower has space for eight birds, and this town has three such towers. Keris realises now why they’re like this - it’s so the birds can leap from them and catch the wind.

((... 13 sux analysis is probably not enough to steal a bird and fly it away making Zoidburg noises.))  
((it would be a Travel roll, lawl))  
((:c))  
((... I mean, she’s probably strong enough that she could carry one))  
((but they’ll be here for a while, so she probably wants to avoid alerting people and Dulmea will say as much))

If Keris thought there were any chance of her leaping into the breast of one of the beautiful birds and flying it away into the night, she’d do it in a heartbeat. Alas, she’s aware of where her talents lie. Getting machines to do what she wants them to is not among them. Still, she lingers a while longer; watching longingly as the pilots tend to their flock and silently begging them to all turn and leave so she can carry one of their pretty flying machines away.

They don’t. The silent shadow among the shadows of the deck glares at them hatefully for their disobedience, and only slinks away when an equally silent voice chides her to. Much as she’d like to outwait them, she has other things to steal here.

“Don’t worry, mama,” says Zanara in their boyish voice. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty more of them around in this land. You can get it as a present for Kuha for being so helpful with Cally. And then we can get another one and pull it apart and find out how it works. And another one just to keep as art.”

‘Yesss,’ Keris thinks happily. ‘Kuha will love one. And those knots! So pretty!’

From atop the canvasbird nest, Keris can look down over the town. It’s so well lit at night, but no one is really awake. This is a quiet mountain town, with more street lighting than Nexus.

“I don’t like this,” Dulmea says. “This is so unlike the other places in Taira we’ve seen.”

“It could just be whatever old Dragon King secrets they’ve dredged up,” Keris argues. It’s half-hearted at best. They both know she’s only acting as the opposition to further the point.

“Question is, who makes a town pretty?” she adds. “The canvas birds I can understand; those are beautiful and useful. But someone’s put a lot of effort into making this whole place gorgeous, in the middle of a civil war. Why?”

“I wonder if it’s hard to invade this place,” Vali contributes. “I mean, it’s been hard for us to get here and you’ve got a magic airship and stuff. Maybe they’ve just been staying out of the war and so they can spend time making things pretty. And being rich. Everyone says this is the richest bit of Taira. Well, that or Terema, but Terema needs the river trade. This place has its own stuff.”

“They’ve got those... freakishly good spies, too,” Keris muses. “The ones that fight better than any mortal can without help, and kill themselves at the drop of a hat. I wonder what their warfront looks like? And where it is, compared to the big cities up here.” She taps a hair tendril on her lip reflectively. “We still need clothes, but let’s take a look around while we get them. I want advance warning if there are any Dragonblooded here, at least.”

It’s easy enough to dash over the wall and get in. Keris dips down to read a sign near the gates - it says “Welcome to Tehreshi”.

It really is uncanny, to be here in brightly lit streets which don’t let off any smoke and which are empty. Nexus and Saata light their streets at night, but that’s because there’s money to be made all hours of the day. Here, things are lit with a golden, sun-like light and yet there’s no one around. There aren’t even many stray animals. A few cats stare at Keris as she examines the town, but they’re more interested in the rats and mice that are paying attention to the clay pots left outside the doors of houses which... huh.

There are roots on the houses going down into the clay pots. And when Keris examines them more closely, the pots contain waste. People here just dump the contents of their chamberpots and the like into these things and feed them to the plants growing over the buildings.

All in all, this town probably only has a few thousand inhabitants, but they’re living in high stone tenements that are built from the local sandstone. There are several prominent temples, all with the five symbol sign of the Illuminationists - and these temples are rich and well maintained, with gold decorations that are kept clean. 

“I bet the local gods don’t like that,” Zanara observes. “Don’t those five symbol people not like anyone worshipping anything but the sun?”

“They do not, no,” Keris agrees. “No wonder the Illuminationists were getting more common as we got closer. I bet this plateau is swarming with them.” She takes a few strategic cuttings from the plants and palms a few of the glowing crystals, making a mental note to let Haneyl have a look at both of them. “Well, if this place is rich, we may as well go for some _nice_ clothes and kill two birds with one stone. Let’s find a baghouse and see who’s in charge here.”

((Looking for big impressive central buildings that might be a governer’s mansion or whatnot.))

The town is small enough that it’s pretty easy to find several such things. There’s the central fortress in the town, a pyramidal thing which - much like the walls - Keris thinks was raised from the ground by sorcery and the built on top of further. She can hear there’s underground chambers in it, too. On the approach to the fortress, around the largest temple in town, are a number of nice looking mansions which have large glass windows and conservatories built atop them, growing plants under glass even in winter.

Curiosity tugging her onwards, Keris elects to scope out one of the mansions before trying for the pyramid.

Keris being Keris, of course she goes in through the top of the house - through the rooftop conservatory, in fact. Sneaking a hair tendril in, she picks the lock to the greenhouse and lets herself in.

It’s warm in here - warm and humid. In fact, it smells like the jungles of An Teng. Keris can smell lemons in here, and oranges, and plenty of flowers - growing in the winter of Taira. She can hear the little magics that enchant this place, keeping the water circulating and preventing mould and other such things.

((... is Envious Heart single-target, or can it apply to an associated group?))  
((Eg, could Keris use it on a desire to outdo the magics and wonderous things of Malra?))  
((It’s written that it’s about a single character - but “The warlock can only activate this charm upon observing some way that another character exceeds them. He gains an enchanted envious intimacy of his choice towards that character or the trait or relationship that he observed (such as their skill with the blade or the fact that they have many friends).” That means she can envy the ruler of this city, or the naib of Malra himself or something like that because she’s observing the place they rule over, which is a Trait (a background) and a way they exceed her))  
((Hmm. Yeah, I guess the naib of Malra would work.))

Her fingers itch. Her hair bristles. This is a tiny little town on the very edge of Malra, and yet... and yet such wonders it has! Beautiful flying canvasbirds that men can ride through the skies, streets lit by clean and steady lights that need no oil or wood to fuel, plants that dispose of their waste and grow delicious fruits where fruits shouldn’t grow... and this is just _one town!_

A hot burning envy overcomes Keris as she imagines what the naib of this plateau must rule over in totality, and she feels it subside to a simmering, burning determination in her belly as she looks around and helps herself to a few oranges. Haneyl isn’t here, but Keris is in full agreement with what she’d be screaming if she were. _She’ll_ have something like this someday. Something _better_.

((Envious Heart activated towards Taym Matah))  
((Okay, how’s she phrasing the Principle?))  
“My Land Will Be Better Than Malra” - implicitly directed at the ruler of Malra

Keris descends down from the greenhouse, down into the main body of the structure. It’s not as outright lavish as places in Nexus or the pirate lords of Saata that she’s seen, but there are fine and plush rugs on the floor, the draperies are saffron-dyed, and there’s the same strange lighting inside so the place doesn’t smell of smoke but instead of scented wood. 

Locating the bedroom of the lady of the house - she can hear a single woman breathing inside - she goes to let herself in.

The bedroom itself is a comfortable room on the interior of the house, looking over the central garden courtyard. There’s a working desk there, laden with paperwork and bookmarked books. The lady is in her late middle years, sleeping in a pillow-filled bed. She’s plump and well-fed, and there are fine silverwork ornaments on her bedside table and hanging from the mannequins that hold tommorow’s clothes. And there, beyond the room, is a paper-doored smaller room that’s a walk-in closet.

Grinning, Keris goes for it, and... yes, haha. There’s a bountiful arrangement of clothes for her to pilfer. She steals a glance back at the woman - bookish, old enough to be her mother, a little plump, fairly modest going by the contents of her wardrobe...

... is this what Sasi might have looked like, before she took the Second Breath?

It’s an odd thought, and makes her miss her lover. Keris doesn’t spend long pondering on it, and it doesn’t stop her pilfering the wardrobe - the lady can no doubt afford a few stolen garments - but she doesn’t make off with the whole thing. A selective choice of replacement clothes that she can tailor to herself and a quick look at the bookcase, and then the thief is out of the door again; a Malran silver ring in her mouth for inspection.

((Keris moves on to the pyramid to see if there’s anything magical or dangerous in it.))  
((... or magical _and_ dangerous.))

“Urgh, she’s so dowdy and plain,” Zanara grumbles in the back of Keris’ head. “She put so much effort into her house, but why didn’t she put more effort into how she dressed? And all the colours are so boring! You’d think they could afford more bright dyes with so much money in this town!”

Keris sits on top of the pyramid, adjusting one of the robes with her fingers into a bag to hold everything else. She should have brought a proper looting bag with her for this.

Perched atop one of the towers on the top of the pyramid base, Keris can see that there are a few sleepy guards here. She can hear rather more people sleeping in this structure, though. They’re fairly tightly packed - probably a garrison.

Stashing her bag at the top of the tower, Keris snoops until she has a good idea of what the guard’s uniform looks like, then pulls her shadow over her into a reasonable effigy of one. That done, she slinks inside as just another ordinary, unimportant soldier on a night shift.

Unlike the elegance of the town outside, the structure here is solid - even overengineered. Someone sat down and thought “how much damage could a determined force do if they attached this place” and then built it strong enough that no mundane catapult is going to seriously damage it. It’s a warren of tunnels and rooms built into solid rock.

“This is pretty cool,” Vali says, happily. “It’s like they built their own hill to be a fortress. No one’d be able to come up the valley we followed to get to the plateau without running into this town, but it’s so pretty so I don’t think anyone’s attached it. Maybe they’ve got more fortresses in the valley we missed and this is a last line of defence.”

Keris ponders this as she stalks through the stone tunnels, feet silent, avoiding contact as best she can. She can’t do the local accent exactly and doesn’t want to be caught out.

It’s a good design, she has to admit. She’s tempted to steal it - or at least, she’ll steal it if she can work out a way to build stone hills like this quickly. And Vali’s idea has merit, but she didn’t _see_ any fortresses coming up. Perhaps it’s the other way around. Maybe the fortress came first, and then someone made the town beautiful around it.

Her time in the shadows is productive. There are perhaps 200 men and women stationed here, sleeping in a number of well-protected barracks - all in astonishing physical condition. Their armour and weaponry is good quality - the armouries here have crossbows and spears, all finely made, and their uniform seems to consist of a warm buff jacket covered with overlapping scales.

There’s _plenty_ of supplies down here, too - enough that this fortress could probably hold out for years. Keris can hear underground wells that have been sunk straight down, never seeing sunlight. They even have those magical lights shining down on inside gardens where - somehow - they’re growing rice and vegetables in pools of muddy water.

And Keris also finds a room near the top of the structure, whose door screams with power. This isn’t just thaumaturgy - a sorcerer has been here and set up this place with wards against scrying and enchantments on the door.

Keris paces around it carefully; never getting too close. She fans a slight breeze across the boundary line and listens to the sound as it passes through, and her eyes flash green when she cranes close to look over every inch of the frame.

There’s some kind of killing curse on this door. If someone tried to pick the lock, Keris thinks they’d just drop dead. The lock itself isn’t that complicated, but the sorcery is woven into the metal of the door and... Keris listens, yes, from the faint screaming there’s soulsteel in it anchoring the magic to make it even more lethal.

And from the location of this room - it’s some kind of fallback or something. It’s placed to be about as hard to get to for an invader as possible.

Dulmea laughs at that thought.

Keris lets out a faint whistle. “It wouldn’t even matter if someone took the town, would it?” she wonders aloud. “They could hold the pyramid anyway. For months, probably. Even years. And it has a bunch of defences inside to make it hard on an invasion force even if they got in.”

“All the prettiness of the town is... bait?” Zanara wonders, sounding outraged. “Mama, that is _awful!_ ”

“... awful?” Keris asks, bewildered. “Zanara, you made Isle-scorpions that look like pretty glimmering gemstones and then when people reach down to the seabed to pick them up, they get stung.”

“Yes, but they didn’t also make the fortress pretty,” Zanara says solidly. “That’d be different if they had. Everything has to be pretty if you’re putting this much effort into it!”

“... true,” Keris concedes. “That’s a very good point. They should have covered the sides in paintings and murals and statues. And that would disguise how tough it is, too.”

There’s the noise of something breaking as someone silently barges their way into the tower and knocks over a vase. So, Eko - for it is she, she dramatically gestures - ponders, is Mama going to break into the creepy death door or run away like a chicken?

“Stop prodding, I’m thinking,” Keris chides her, rolling her eyes and pacing down the corridor to see if there’s any other way in. She could just go through the wall, of course. But that would leave a bit of an obvious trail, and maybe set off alarms.

Dulmea clears her throat. “Maybe it might be an idea to search the town for any clues for the trail first,” she suggests. “If you want to break in here, it might be an idea to do it once your airship is past these defences. If you’re even going to take it that far, because these canvaswings worry me. They’re clearly much more agile than your airship.”

“They’re probably limited in how far they can go, though,” Keris muses. “If we stay out of sight... mmm. You’re right, though. I can come back to this later. The pyramid’s not going anywhere.”

Eko silently stomps her foot, because Mama is just being a coward and solving the puzzle of the death door is _fun_.

“Ignore her,” Dulmea says drily. “She’s still sulking when she remembers to about not being able to go out into Creation.”

“I’ll come back for the door,” Keris decides. “For now, the trail. And we need to tell Rathan to put the ship down until we’ve decided our course now we’re on the plateau.” She begins making her way back out of the pyramid, back to where her clothes-bag is stashed and then where Cissidy is waiting outside the town walls.

WHAT IS IT? her ribbon horse gestures, rubbing up against her happily. She’s not in perfect shape, hurt by the winds and the cold, but she’s not letting it show. WHERE DO WE RUN?

Keris hugs her, making a mental note to see if she can give medical attention to a creature largely made of ribbons once they’re back at the ship - and if not, then to pamper her steed as much as possible. “Back to the ship for you,” she answers, “Tell Rathan to set it down somewhere well-hidden. I’ll follow once I’ve run a search circuit for the bloodtrail.”

The first five minutes after Cissidy leaves is entirely wasted, because after poking around until she finds a blood-tinged pinecone amidst the snow, it takes Keris only two more bloodsigns to realise that the trail is heading off in the exact direction Cissidy left. Towards the ship. Where Maryam is.

Right. Stupid of her.

Keris abandons that search and closes her eyes. There are two threads towards Maryam in her heart; one the old longing for her parents and the other the newer, forceful, slightly manic _need_ to reconnect with her that was born from the gifts of the Silent Wind. Well, she’s found Maryam. They’re reconnecting. She’ll go down to her coffin as soon as she’s back at the ship, with Kali and Ogin, and properly introduce her mama to her babies.

She doesn’t need this emotional whirlwind to find her mother now.

Keris breathes in. She breathes out.

She lets go.

And then, before the sudden emptiness of her overflowing heart can sink in, she focuses her mind on her father. On Kallash. On this Tairan blacksmith’s son who had won her mother’s heart; who Xasan had described as strange and superstitious and had never known the appeal of in his sister’s eyes. Keris remembers the huge form in front of the forge, and the gentleness with which his tool-roughened hands had handled his infant daughter, and she thinks about how much she wants to meet him and ask these questions.

She breathes in; new love bubbling longingly within.

She starts to search.

((TLA Principle towards Maryam FLG’d, new TLA Principle formed towards Kallash.))

It takes her longer than she’d like. The path hadn’t gone near the town, not exactly. It’d followed a low path by the river which the town overlooked. That’d have been fine if Keris hadn’t been looking _exactly the wrong way_ to stumble across it at first.

Anyway, her mental bemoaning of this problem largely happens because it’s already past dawn when she actually finds the damn river trail, she’s hungry, and so she’s not in a very good mood when she finds the small checkpoint with a pair of guards - one brewing tea, the other fishing on a small quay - that checks this path.

Glaring at them malevolently, Keris resents them for not being tired, for having a fish meal in the near future, for probably being warmer than she is, and also for generally existing. She skulks around them with many a vicious look being thrown from the canopy of the trees around the path, and spitefully slips a hair tendril into the pot to drink the entire contents while the one tending to it is looking the other way.

It’s not even very good tea.

((oh keris. kind of a bitch when she’s grumpy.))

In their little hut, Keris finds that there are records here going back the past few months. Presumably they have more records, but that’s all the one book they have here covers.

This checkpoint here is to make notes of everything that uses this river path. There isn’t much, and most of them are small. Single carts, small traders, several small boats a day.

Only every once in a while, every week or so, there’s a much bigger caravan coming up here, heading into Malra. Much bigger, and carrying a carefully counted number of men and women. Most of the time these have tens of slaves, sometimes in the low hundreds.

A low growl rumbles deep in her throat, and she nods decisively. Right. That more or less settles it. She’s going to need to follow this specific river trail - and that means that the airship has probably lived out its useful timespan. Another boat, maybe. Or a large carriage.

She turns away from the little cabin, and starts off back to the airship.

((Roll me Reaction + Awareness at Diff 4, and tell me if you beat it both for hearing and for other senses))  
((5+5+2 Coadj=12. 4 sux for vision, 6 for smell, 12 for hearing and taste.))

It’s the sound of flapping that draws her attention as she starts off back to look for where Rathan landed their airship. It’s another one of the canvasbird aerial craft - only much louder, and with several sets of wings flapping in unison. Keris smells burning tar carried on the wind, and something that can only be the sharp tang of air-elemental blood.

Pausing where she is and shrinking down, it takes her longer than she should to locate the great flying craft that’s heading to the town. It’s shaped like a six-winged hawk with a drawn out body, if a hawk was made of elaborately carved wood and its eyes were large enough to be glass windows. The two biggest wings are static, while the other four beat and seem to be giving it lift.

“That’s as big as a ship!” Vali says in awe.

It’s clearly heading in towards the town, and Keris realises now what part of the big flat area on the pyramidal fortress might be for. It’s coming from the south - not directly over the route Keris took to get in, but closer than she’d like. It’s returning to Malra from somewhere south if she has the map correct, while Keris has come in from the south-east.

She swallows nervously. There are no arrows sticking out of it or holes in it, which means it probably didn’t see the airship. Nevertheless, she hangs around long enough to watch it set down and see who comes out of it. The smaller canvasbirds might be something mortal thaumaturges could make - she’s not an expert in such things - but this vast carrierhawk can only be the creation of a sorcerer or Exalt.

((She’ll need to get closer to do that - her eyes aren’t good enough to do it from outside the town. Because you haven’t bought up your sight like you have every other sense. :p 

So Phys + Subterfuge Diff 2 to get into a good position, probably on top of one of the temples or the mansions, but if she really wants to get into a good position to get a close look at it she can do it at +1 Diff and get on top of one of the spires on the fortress to look down at things. ))  
((5+5+3 Lurking Predator+2 stunt=15. 9 sux.))

It’s a fair way back into town to get a good viewing position. Happily, the arrival of the carrierhawk has distracted all those who are awake at this hour of the day, and Keris can hop the wall again and make her way back up to the tower at the base of the pyramid to peer down at the occupants, weighing them from on high with a green glint to her eyes.

Getting much closer, Keris can see signs of wear and damage on it. There’s rips in some of the canvas wings, a hole in the wood, and a few crossbow bolts lodged in the side. More importantly, the men and women coming out of the ship are carrying some of their injured.

They’re not dressed the same as the soldiers holding down the fortress, though. They’re dressed in whites and greys that clearly are meant to blend into the snow of the mountains, and they’re wearing blank masks with a single empty circle on them. They’re carrying short blades and expensive compact crossbows, and their equipment is loaded down with blessings and prayer strips that chime to Keris’ hearing. That same empty circle is everywhere,

Keris touches her own forehead in shock, because she knows that symbol very, very well.

And these aren’t just ordinary soldiers. Or mortal men. Everyone on that bird shines with sunlight to the extent that they together are brighter than the distant sun behind the clouds to Keris.

((The people coming out are E2-3, Solar essence.))  
((... ho _hum_.))  
((... goddammit I can’t believe I didn’t think of that; it’s a friggin’ obvious reason for what Malra’s like.))

There’s a sun-child here, Keris realises. One like Yamal. A powerful one, from the looks of it; one with experience and years behind them who’s entrenched on the plateau. Perhaps even the naib himself.

... there may even be more than one.

((Reaction + Awareness, hearing))  
((12 dice; 4x2+4=12 sux.))  
((lol, beat 11 successes))

No human could hear what she does. But Keris is no human, so she picks up the whisper-quiet movement that comes behind her to the tower, glowing like the sun all on its own.

There’s someone standing behind her, on the other side of the tower. Someone very quiet. Someone very fast. Someone who’s careful to stand right on the other side of the tower, out of arms reach, just where you’d stand if you didn’t want to be vulnerable to someone whirling and stabbing you.

And Unspeakable Blue, are they fast! Fast enough that you probably couldn’t see them move when they move like that!

((Keris senses Enlightenment 8, Solar Essence, and can hear them through their stealth))  
((... are they out of _Keris’s_ reach, or merely out of _arm’s_ reach?))  
((They’re not out of Keris’ reach, but they’re out of the reach that you could reasonable assume a human to have. Like, they’re not doing a Byakuya “I appear right behind you” - they’re doing a “I appear on the other side of the tower, leaning against the wall like I was here all along”))  
((Lol. Rolling Cowardice Keeps Me Safe; 3 dice, 3 successes. Welp.))

They’re a good two yards away; leaning against the tower wall. Out of reach for a human. But not out of reach for Keris. Her hair lashes out backwards almost on its own - not to grapple; Keris dares not stay near such a thing, but in a surging panic reaction that pushes the sunchild back and away.

It occurs to her, as she launches herself off the opposite side of the tower and sprints for the walls, that this may have pushed them off the tower entirely. Well, that’s their own fault for trying to sneak up behind her and startle her. And it might slow down their pursuit.

((Automatic reflex-attack intended to cause Knockback and but no real damage, then Keris is sprinting for the walls at her top non-Vali-aided speed, heading southwestish so as not to lead them to her ship if they follow.))  
((Phys + Athletics contested))  
((For getting away or for pushing them back?))  
((Getting away))  
((Heh. _That_ she can apply magical skill to, unlike the instinctive hair-bash. 5+5+2 stunt+5 Adorjan autosux=12. 6+5=11 sux.))  
((Ha ha, this time he got 12 to your 11.))

Keris is like the wind as she flees, a vertical scurry over beautiful rooftops and across fine garden as she sprints away from this goddamn sun-child.

Only for maybe the first time that wasn’t with Vali or Eko, Keris isn’t getting away. He’s fast, and though when she can see him he isn’t quite as fast as she is - she can’t always see him. He flickers mid-step, and appears ahead, moving with bursts of speed even faster than her sprinting. 

“Gods, you’re fast,” he says amiably, flickering in beside her for a few strides, falling behind, then catching up again. “I’m all in favour of standing on rooftops, you know, but I think I’ll really have to ask you what you were doing up there. And if you slowed down a bit, we wouldn’t have to shout. I hate shouting. It’s so much effort.”

This time she can see him properly. He’s not as dark as Xasan, and he has some mix of Harbourite and Tairan in his features; he’s a mix like her, but tending more towards the Harbourite side. Or maybe he’s just from the bit where Taira borders with Harbourhead, where maybe everyone looks like that. He’s got smiling brown eyes, he covers his lower face with a half-mask similar to a cut down version of what his soldiers wore, and his dark hair is cut short. On his brow gleams a golden sun ring.

Amusingly, he dresses less expensively than his soldiers. Or at least less neatly. His snow jacket is open at the neck, flapping in the breeze, and his baggy trousers are worn at the knees. He has a short blade slung across his back, but he hasn’t drawn it yet.

Keris skids to a halt and glares at him, face heating in a blush her skin tone can’t quite conceal. Playing with her children is one thing, but she was actually trying to get away here. She’s never lost a footrace outside her soul before except against Adorjan. She can feel her hair coiling up into scorpion-tails defensively, but as long as he hasn’t drawn his blade, she’s not inclined to be the one to start a fight.

“You’re the one who snuck up behind me,” she snaps in lieu of trying to run again, still grumpy from the cold and hunger and now prickly from embarrassment as well. “Is effort alright when you’re trying to startle a woman alone?”

He flaps his hand at her. “La, la. Let’s not argue. Or fight. Fighting would be such a bore, and on top of that,” his eyes crease up, “I’d hate to kill such a pretty lady. Or be killed by her, of course. It’d be touch and go either way, although as a matter of professional pride I like to think I’d have the edge.” He sighs. “I really do have to ask you what you were doing up there, though,” he says reluctantly. “The naib will really get on my back if I show up and tell him I just let a random spy go. It’d be such a bore to have him chew my ear off again. He’ll go on and on about ‘How could you do that, Ney?’ and ‘Why didn’t you even find out what she was looking for?’.”

Face heating further, Keris glares some more. “I wasn’t _spying_ ,” she snaps. “I was looking at your bird things.”

There’s a skeptical pause.

“As _art!_ ” she adds, heatedly. “They’re beautiful. At least, the small ones are. I wanted to see if the big one had the same knot-magic and painted prayer-feather bits and if whoever made them was on it.”

((Displaying her 4-dot Love of Art, partly as a genuine argument that she wasn’t spying for political reasons and partly because it’s Keris and she’s still riding the high of the pretty paintedbirds and wants to geek out about them a bit.))

She sees his eyes shift to the bag slung over her shoulder, and growls. “And fine, yes, the reason I was there in the first place was the yidak down in the valley shredded my clothes. Look, see?” She yanks out one of the dresses she pilfered. “I was cold, and this was the nearest town. If I hadn’t got distracted by the canvas-birds I’d be gone and dressed and _warm_ by now.”

“The yidak in the valley?” He winces. “Ah, that thing is a problem. It kills people who try to travel through there when there’s neither sun nor moon. And it’s a coward - it runs from sunlight and has boltholes all over the valley. I tried to kill it once, and it nearly killed me. People keep on hoping that they can get through when there’s plenty of moonlight, but in winter that’s risky.”

Keris realises that his accent very much is more like her uncle and mother’s. It’s still a bit Tairan, but she’d bet he was raised in a place where people talk like Harbourites - maybe even among one of the border tribes like the Daiwye.

“... I know,” Keris mutters, her hair settling somewhat. “I cut her leg off and thought she was done for, and then she grew it back and smacked me through an iced over pond and got away in the storm.” She huffs. “So can I go now? I have clothes, and that’s all I wanted.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He looks her up and down. “We could always go have sweet tea together. You look hungry, and I’m starving. Do you know the food service on one of the hawks? Non-existent. And you’re a very interesting - and pretty - lady. And you’re an artist? I’ve always liked art.” He smiles behind the mask. “And then we can play the game where you try to get things out of me while I try to get things out of you and we probably try to poison each other, because you’re clearly an excellent spy. With wonderful hair, I might add. Dangerous ladies like you are always so much fun to talk with. And you’d be worth the effort, which,” his eyes twinkle, “isn’t something I say to many people.”

((Inviting Keris to have tea and food with him, also flirting. Per + Pres + Savoir Faire Spy Style + 8ExD = 14 successes, Keris is at -1MDV from Savoir Faire Spy Style’s 3 dot clause, also hitting Keris’ Indulgence or Be Loved depending on whether she finds him attractive))  
((She does find him attractive, but hunger is currently more immediate than pretty.))

“...” says Keris. “Still not a spy. But... I _am_ hungry.” Her hair settles further. “How _much_ food are we talking here?”

“Well, speaking as someone who’s been out down in the mountains for days, I intend to eat until I can barely walk,” he says with a casual shrug. “And no, I won’t ask you to come into the fortress, Ms Flittish. The food there isn’t great. The soldiers are fighters, not chefs. No, there’s a few restaurants here and I know they’ll be willing to put all effort in for me and my lady-friend. Oh, I do hope we’ll be friends. It’d be much easier on everyone and also not ruin wherever we fight.”

Keris mulls it over for a moment or two longer, but ultimately... she can’t get away from him unless she’s using Vali’s light, which would lead him right back to the ship anyway. And while she’s pretty sure she could take him in a fight, if her mother’s yidak nearly killed him, it wouldn’t be easy. And he might have grown since then anyway. Ultimately, the easiest and safest way to get out of this is, ironically enough, to go with him and satisfy his curiosity.

“Fine,” she decides. “But if I see another sunchild I’m bolting no matter what. I don’t like two-on-one odds.” She raises her chin haughtily. “And I want a name before I let you escort me to a meal.”

“La, la, you already have half of it,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “You’re lucky I like bossy women. Ney Adami, if you really insist. And who are you, mysterious yet beautiful woman with red hair that must eat combs?” His eyes twinkle.

((... is he basically Night!Shikamaru?))  
((Not entirely! There are other people in him!))  
((Lawl.))

That wins a giggle. “You don’t know how right you are,” she grins. “Keris Dulmeadokht, then.” She swings her bag of looted clothing over her shoulder, then eyes it thoughtfully. “I’ll... leave this here, I think,” she adds, hanging it from a tree branch. “Lead on.”

“Forgive me if I don’t offer you my arm,” he says, over his shoulder. “The border people here get so scandalised by unmarried men and women touching. Also, you’d probably try to stab me, and that’d just be a _pain_ , you know?”

Together they make their way through the town, and Keris notices that no small number of people bow to Ney or simply make gestures of respect. He ignores it, preferring to chat to her as he leads her into a small courtyard and into an expensive-looking greenhouse with tables set around the plants. A woman who’s clearly only just pulled on her best robe scurries over to greet him, and he puts her at ease with a few casual words - before telling her to just keep on bringing food because he’s in off the mountains.

“You’re not a local,” he observes to Keris, watching as the woman heads away with a glance at her. “You don’t wear the Tairan veil, although you’ve got the blood. You’ve also got Harbourhead blood. But you’re also spirit-touched - and you talk like a Nexan. You’ve got very singular looks, you know. It makes you even more beautiful.” He bats his eyelashes at her in an exaggerated manner.

“Damn straight,” Zanara says, this time sounding like Zana, then gigles. “He’s funny!”

Keris tilts her head coquettishly. “Well, I could tell you about myself... but there’d be no fun in that, would there? So how about I tell you what I can guess about you, and you tell me what you can guess about me? Like a little game. Shall I start?”

He sits back, removing his half mask and laying it aside. Underneath, it turns out he’s not covering any scars or injuries. “Sorry, it comes with the uniform,” he says. “But it’s hard to eat wearing it. Go ahead, then.”

“You’re a Harborite-Tairan mix like me,” Keris starts, leading with the obvious. “One who grew up around the highland clans, from your voice - maybe the ones near the border. You work for the naib, and you’ve got sun-child friends... four of them, maybe? One for each of those little signs that the Illuminationists like so much? At least one of them is an artist-engineer; the one that made the canvasbirds and dolled the town up to look pretty and,” she grins, “worked those pretty plants into everything. Because I don’t think you did that. But that fortress is all dull and plain and boring; no murals or statues or anything interesting at all on it, and it looks like it’s basically a giant hill made of stone. So there’s someone who knows war as well.”

She winds a hair tendril around her finger, thinking. “And you’re... mm. A spy and counter-spy? They say the shahbanu’s men are paranoid of Malran spies. So you’re probably in charge of them. And you report right to the naib, because you said so, who...” she looks at him searchingly, “... is one of your sun-child friends? Or not? I guess if he wasn’t you’d need some reason to all be following him, so I’m going to guess that he is.” She nods, sitting back with a satisfied little smile. This is actually kind of fun. “And you’ve just come down from the mountains in your big hawk thing, so I suppose there was something spyish going on up there, but I couldn’t guess what without more to work with.”

He grins at her. “You’re pretty good. There’s still some bits you’re missing, of course - but the fun here is wondering if you’re leaving them out on purpose or you just don’t know them. And-”

A bell rings, and platters of rice dishes, cold meats, and black-onion spiced bread fresh from the oven are brought out. Ney grabs one of the spiced bread and starts dipping it in a chutney, wolfing it down. “You’ll have to wait a bit for my observations,” he says with his mouth full. “You know how tiring unveiling your soul is, after all. And after this, they’ll be bringing out some soups and the hot meat. The best beef is one you cook yourself over a fire, but this is second. Or maybe third.”

Keris is a little slower in gorging herself; trialling a nibble of each new dish before stuffing it into her mouth - but once she’s confirmed each to be safe, she follows suit in filling her belly. And savours the little note of satisfaction in knowing that _he_ had to flare his soul to beat her, while _she_ nearly got away without it. If it comes to a match, she’s relatively sure she can win.

He only starts his end once they’ve chewed their way through the starters, the wine’s been brought out, and he’s wolfed down what might be a good chunk of a calf. “So,” he says, sitting back and loosening his clothes a little more. That turns out to reveal more than a little bit of chest - he’s slim, but toned, built like a male version of some of the Lionesses Keris saw back in Terema. He runs his hand over his short black hair. “I suppose you’re wanting my observations on you now? Or would you rather wait for the deserts? They’re rather good here. And they know what I like.”

“Mmm. I know what I like, too,” Keris says, eyeing him appreciatively. “Start now, and we’ll see if you have enough to last until the next course comes out.”

“Well, very well, my sweet Keris,” he says, winking at her. “The name’s one clue - that’s a Tairan name - and not the kind of name they have around here, but it’s still a northern name. Again, you said as much that you’re a mix. From the way you look, I’m guessing one of your parents was one of the shah’s mercenaries from Harbourhead who settled down. But your accent is Nexan, like the mercenaries. So you spent your childhood in Nexus, either because your family fled there or...”

((5 successes on Reaction + Investigation, beats Keris’ defence pool of (Reaction + Politics / 2))

Keris can’t help but frown.

“Ah, no, another casualty of the war. Someone sold you there, didn’t they?”

“Someone,” she says, as neutrally as she can manage. Just like he said; he’s missing a piece or two - but are they deliberate or genuine? “Anything else?”

“Well, you have demon-blood,” he says, with a shrug. “But then again, that’s not hard to miss. The hair is a dead give-away, especially with how you were having to try to resist the urge to use it as a limb when you were eating. I won’t mention that it also curled up into scorpion tails, because a gentleman doesn’t comment on a lady’s bad hair day. Your fingers are too long, your eyes are shaped slightly wrong for either Tairan or Harbourhead blood, and the red is astonishingly beautiful - but spirit touched.”

It’s quite a lot of effort to stay still at that, and Keris tenses despite herself, searching his face for aggression or signs of malice. A flicker of annoyance ignites again - she _knows_ he can see the instinctive fear-response; the sudden alertness for the possibility of attack, and it’s probably telling him things, but she can’t _stop_ it.

She glares at him instead. She seems to be doing that a lot.

“You’ve spent time in Terema,” he adds. “The fabrics in the clothes you’re wearing were made there. But that doesn’t mean you’re working for the so-called shahbanu, and honestly I don’t think you are. I think you arrived in Taira from Terema, which would make sense with the Nexan accent. Given that, I suspect that means you were looking for your family.” He grins. “And the reason for that was that you were pregnant, because you gave birth recently.” He takes a sip of fruit juice. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m still interested since you clearly are. I don’t think the father’s around - you’re not even caring that I’m interested, and there’s no guilt about the fact you’re admiring my chest.” His eyes twinkle. “It is a wonderful chest. I even go as far as to exercise to keep it.”

“...” says Keris. “Okay, how in the _hells_...”

She pauses, looks at his chest, and then looks down at her own.

“... dammit,” she finishes, annoyed. “Alright, Mr Clever. Have I found them?”

((10 successes in Reaction + Investigation, smashing past Keris’ defence.))

“You’re still looking, but given I don’t think you’re from this region - no, I don’t think you’ve found them. Or at least not all of them,” he says with the same casual affect. “So I have to assume you’re following some kind of trail. It’s possible that you think your parents fled to Harbourhead - which would be a good idea, honestly - but I don’t think that’s true.” He leans in. “And I think you’re willing to work for anyone who can find your family for you,” he says, fingers darting up to pick up a lemon slice from the table and holding it between two fingers. “So that’s why you came to Taira - someone hired you for the price of information on your family.”

“Hmph,” Keris huffs, leaning back again and folding her arms. “Fine, you’re good at this. That job’s done, obviously, and was nowhere near here. I was following the trail up onto the plateau when the storm came down, and the yidak was in the middle of it.” She pauses. “And since you’ve already worked out that I’m a new mother, I don’t have to threaten you and all your men with horrible, horrible deaths if you even think of harming my baby, do I? Which is good, because that wouldn’t be friendly at all.”

“Babies,” he points out, flipping the lemon between his fingers. “You’re feeding twins, not a single child.” He grins. “Your figure really is beautiful. But it does say some things - like how you haven’t been eating enough recently for how much work you’re putting into what you're doing here.”

Keris’s glare this time could cut glass. “Has anyone ever told you you’re too clever for your own good?” she demands.

“My mama always said it’d get me killed some day,” he said, popping an olive in his mouth. “Instead, it got me chosen by the Sun. But don’t worry, it probably will anyway. I’m hoping it won’t be you, though. We are still playing the game, right?”

Keris eyes him up again, evaluatingly, putting all her senses to work. “Are we?” she asks. “You’ve decided I’m not a spy, after all. And you’ve skipped the poisoning attempt, so you can’t be that worried I’m a threat.”

((Trialling Reaction+Investigation to spot anything she missed in the first go.))  
((5+1+2+6 Kimmy ExD {secrets, discerning eye, secret lusts}=14. 7 sux.))  
((Beats his Reaction + Politics of 6. Keris can read that he’s raised as a Harbourhead person - that his cultural values are more like Xasan than Ali’s. She also puts things together that, no, there isn’t a full circle of Solars here - it’s a religious thing, not a symbol of them... and he doesn’t believe in it, because of that Harbourhead cultural thing))

“Well, I was going to,” he says, lips curling up into a full smile, “but I realised you weren’t scared of it. You were acting like you could deal with it. So I decided it’d be too much effort and risk ruining my own meal.”

“That, and you’re not as devout about burning people alive for not worshipping the sun-gods as the natives here, so you don’t care as much that I’m demonblooded,” she says in a low tone, looking around for the desserts. “What clan do you hail from? I’m guessing a highlander tribe; they mix more with Taira - but if you were born to a mercenary who came east, they stuck around to raise you; you’re more Harborite than Tairan in more than just your blood.”

The sweet things arrive right on cue, and neither of them talk for a bit - not until the people bringing them are gone.

“Ah,” he says, mouth full of a creamy pomegranite pudding, “neither one thing nor the other. My people were goatherders right on the border - not a proper clan, nor mercenaries. Well, I say that, but the Malran naibs would sometimes hire us as scouts.”

“And is that how you were reborn, I wonder?” Keris muses, between bites of something delightfully fruity and spongey and rich. She can practically feel herself getting fatter. “A clever goatherder; nosy and good at guessing things, hired to scout for the naib and... what, you found out more than you should have? Or did it come after, once you’d shown yourself useful enough to enter his service, when a spying mission put you outside your stride?”

((Reaction+Investigation again to pick anything out of his reaction to her speculation; 5+1+2 stunt+6 Kimmy ExD {secrets, discerning eye, shameful truths}=14. 6 sux. Drat. Either she’s off-base or he’s too good at keeping a poker face.))

He takes another dessert. “Something like that,” he says, leaning over the table to offer her a slice of sugar-coated melon held between his fingers.

Keris raises an eyebrow, then leans forward to snap it out of his hands with teeth that are, for the briefest of moments, a lot sharper than a human’s have any right to be. Red juice stains her scarred lips as she gives him an impish, wicked grin, and she licks it off slowly.

“Fun though this is,” she says, not without a hint of regret, “I do have twins waiting. Who need feeding, and changing, every half hour or so, and scream a lot when they don’t get it. So how can I reassure you that it’s safe to let me go off alone to tend them, if I promise very nicely to come back again?”

((Using PoEU to see how much “letting her go without following her” is worth to him.))  
((Also, Cerulean Paramour roll, lol. 4+5+3 Cerulean Paramour+2 stunt=14. 8 sux.))  
((It’s a Resources 4 thing - his interest is decidedly piqued.))

“Well, I don’t know,” he says. “I mean I’m having so much fun. How can I live without your company, my beautiful yet mysterious stranger?”

”Longer?” Keris suggests flippantly with a sweet and vicious smile.

“Well,” he says, “how about we make it an evening meal. And of course, a new mother needs her rest, so I might also offer a bed for the night - if you were so inclined. But only if you promise to come back, of course.”

((He is of course using JET to test that promise.))

Keris tilts her head. “I think that would suit us both nicely,” she agrees. “But a man who breaks a promise to a maiden is certain to meet a terrible fate, you know. So best not to follow me and prove your poor mother right.”

((She does intend to come back, if only because she has to pass the town anyway and can a) tie him up this way while the rest of her party goes past the town so they don’t get spotted by a Solar and b) she likes food and wants more of it.))

“Well, I suppose,” he says slowly. “I’ll make sure to dress up nicely, of course. How about I meet you in the square outside here at, say, the hour before sunset? We’ll call it a date.” He grins, showing clean white teeth. “Tell the staff here to give you a bundle for lunch,” he adds. “And since no doubt your children are getting hungry, I should let you go.” He rises. “Might I have a goodbye kiss?” he asks, the cheekiness clear in his voice.

Rising, Keris puts the full force of the sultry, smoky-eyed seductiveness that never works very well against Sasi into her rolling gait around the table and stretches up on her tiptoes... to plant a kiss on his cheek, near the edge of his mouth but not on it.

“Until tonight,” she murmurs, smirking triumphantly. “But not a moment sooner, mm?”

((Per+Pres; 4+5+3 Cerulean Paramour+1 bonus+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {beauty, secret lusts, talent for temptation}=24. Enhancing with Hidden Depths Temptress to not attempt to follow her. 6 sux, x2 from HDT=12 sux.))  
((Bah, really flubbed that roll.))  
((Dammit social!Keris.))  
((12 successes is still a lot! She’s just merely one of the best mortal courtesans in the world on a very very good day :p ))

Keris is rather pleased that this, at least, breaks his diffident composure and produces a sigh from him. One hand goes to his cheek, and he watches her as she leaves with more than a hint of sashay to collect her food.

In deference to her travelling companions, she gets rather a large bundle of food, and hopes he’ll assume she’s just stockpiling - though no doubt his _annoying_ perceptiveness has guessed she has at least one travelling companion, or she wouldn’t have left her babies at all. Which means he probably knows that she accepted his offer to let them sneak past without him being able to look for them personally, and might be going to order his soldiers to watch for them - but she knows that he knows, and can warn her group to be careful or take a long detour around the town. Of course, he might know that she knows that he knows...

Keris shakes her head and stops thinking about it. That sort of nonsense is just going to give her a headache. With a nice big bundle of food under her arm, she leaves the town - through the gates, this time - and makes a quick stop at the tree where she stashed her clothes before heading off southwest. She zigzags several times, occasionally pausing for a while and listening hard for any signs of pursuit, at other times doubling back; always moving fast so as not to leave footprints and stopping only on rocks or thick branches that won’t leave footprints.

No apparent pursuit. And she spotted him sneaking up behind her, and he was having to exert himself to keep up with her in a dash.

She’s probably safe. Due to all her zigzagging and backtracking and circling, it takes her another half-hour or so to _find_ the airship, and that only because she’s lucky enough to spot Cissidy’s ribbon-trail while dashing over the canopy. She spares a hair-tendril to gather up the little hoofprints as she follows it back to where the ship has been landed and her children are - rather impatiently - waiting.

“So,” she announces, swinging onboard and dropping both bags as she hastens to pick up a wailing Kali and Ogin and tuck them between the folds of her skirt, where they can snuggle up against her skin and start to suckle. “I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”


	4. Chapter 4

“What I’d _like_ ,” Calesco says, acid dripping from every word, “is for you to explain where you’ve _been_ , Mama. The babies need feeding every four hours and you’ve been away all night.”

“Yes,” Rathan says, eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you had good reasons, but you know what Calesco had to do to feed them? She had to chew up bread and dribble it into their mouths - because Fatima said that was what you had to do for orphaned babies where you don’t have any milk for them.”

“And Kali is bite-y,” Calesco says, wincing.

“I was dealing with a complication,” Keris explains, wincing as her daughter makes this known by bringing teeth into play where she’s attached to a breast. “Namely that there’s a sun-child in the town, and I’m pretty sure there are others in Malra. At least one, maybe two, probably fewer than five. They’ve been here years. I’d guess the naib is one.”

It’s fortunate that the other people on board have given the two wailing infants some room, because that’s probably not news that wants to be spread. Even with just her children, Rathan pales and Calesco balls her hands into fists.

“What?” she demands in a low and dangerous voice.

“Yes,” Rathan says. “Excuse me, _what_? Mama, we need to leave this place if there’s multiple sun-children here! The sun is really painful! And you’ve got two babies!”

“We can’t back out at the last step, not when my father might still be alive,” Keris argues back heatedly, barely remembering to keep her voice down. “Anyway, I’m already half-exposed. He’s like Yamal was - he bears the empty circle on his brow, same as me - and he spotted me when I was hiding. _And_ kept up with me when I ran,” she adds, scowling. “But he didn’t attack, and I don’t think he could tell how powerful I was. He just... wanted to talk. Which I couldn’t exactly refuse, because he’s _faster than I am_ on foot and I didn’t want to lead him back here.”

She huffs. “So we talked, and he was annoyingly clever and guessed a few things - including more or less why we’re here, tracking my parents, and that I’m a new mother - but not everything. And what he did work out convinced him that I’m not a spy and I don’t have any stake in the war and I’m not much of a threat. He probably knows I have someone with him to care for the twins, but he’ll be assuming a mortal or two, not you. So.”

Holding her twins securely with her hair to free up her hands, Keris gestures at the ship. “If we prepare well and I tie up his attention tomorrow night, you’ll be able to sneak past the town. And then I’ll walk off all pretty and he’ll have no reason to be suspicious and we’re free to move on. But if we bail and flee now, he’ll come looking in person - and we are neither stealthy nor fast enough to hide from someone who can spot me when I’m hiding and beat me in a foot race.”

Calesco seems about to say something, but Rathan raises his hand and waves her down. “Are you sure this is the best idea?” he says seriously. “Wouldn’t it be better to just... leave this country? Head back to the South West, let the babies grow up a bit so they don’t need your constant help, and then you can come back properly with us as a proper, dedicated raid into a Solar’s land. Because right now... well, a sun-child is probably even more powerful than Calesco or me, and we’ve got babies and the people Calesco picked up.”

“I can’t,” Keris says, starting to get frustrated that they don’t understand. Her papa is _family_. She can’t just leave while he might be alive! He might be dead by the time she gets back! Just the thought of betraying him like that makes her feel sick.

((Keris, uh, literally doesn’t have a choice here, lol. MBD is in play; she considers abandoning this quest before she confirms his current state to be a betrayal and he’s her father, so it’s in full effect.))  
((Well, they don’t actually realise it and they don’t have it themselves, so they’re going to futily try to batter her down until Keris loses her temper or otherwise get them to stop asking.))

Calesco and Rathan don’t really want to listen to her. They just keep on going on about the silly idea that she abandon her parents.

Only one thing they say actually gets to even be considered. “But,” Calesco says, her voice raised, “what about Ali? And Zany! And Hany! Wouldn’t it be better to spend the time making sure they get to Saata safely and preparing a place for them? You’re forgetting about them!”

((Calesco is playing dirty and trying to play off her Ancient and Firstborn promise, getting 8 successes.))

“I swore they’d get to Saata, but I said I wouldn’t be with them for the whole time,” Keris points out, teeth gritted. “And the route they’re taking puts them past Lookshy and near the Blessed Isle, so it’s better if I’m _not_ with them. They’ve got a whole mercenary company protecting them and no signs of anything that’ll get the Immaculates coming down on their heads, and it’ll be months yet before they approach the Southwest - plenty of time for me to get back and set things up _after_ finding Papa. Now we’re done here. I’ll leave a Gale with you while you sneak around the town and make sure not to leave Kali and Ogin without any milk ever again, but we’re sticking to the plan.”

She turns and flounces off down to the belly of the ship before they can argue any further; the twins cradled close as little warm bundles nestled up against her ribs. Maybe her mama will be more agreeable than her souls are proving.

((So how does Keris react to / interact with that attempted compel on her AaF promise?))  
((AaF only holds you to the exact wording - and like she said, her exact wording specifically called out that she wouldn’t be able to be with them for the entire trip, only that she’d get them out of Taira and shipped off to the Southwest.))  
((Yes, but Calesco was an attempt to persuade her to hold to Calesco’s reading of it, so Keris needs to either beat her thing with her MDV, or spend WP to resist Calesco’s attempted compel.))  
((Hmm. True. Is that an MDV stunt? Oh wait, dammit, is Calesco using her TLA social-fu to hit Keris with her arguments for massive damage? Because an MDV stunt probably won’t overcome that penalty.))  
((Yes, she is. She’s fighting dirty.))  
((Dammit Calesco. Then yes, Keris is spending WP to resist.))  
((Yeah, that’s pretty much what she does in your stunt, lol. She declares she’s not listening and storms off.))  
((Hee.))

The sun has risen outside, but it’s dark down in the hold of the ship - dark and warm and damp. It’s like she’s in the guts of a living thing, because she is. Cuddling her babies closely, Keris takes them to their grandmother’s ghost.

Maryam’s bones lie in the shaped coffin Keris made for her, her ghost a stranger superposition on top of the broken, scattered bones. The transparent woman fills in the gaps, but doesn’t block her mortal remains.

“What... is it?” she wheezes as Keris sits herself down there, gently rocking her children and stroking Ogin’s tails to calm him down.

“Hi, mama,” she whispers. “I, um... I thought you might want to meet your grandchildren. The baby ones.” She shifts the folds of her clothing so that their heads are visible. “This is Kali, the girl, and the boy is Ogin. Xasan... Xasan made sure that they got the Daiwye ritual done for them after they were born - or as close as we could get to it. Blood, salt and milk.”

“You were a small child last time I saw you,” Maryam whispers. “It doesn’t seem real that you’re a mother now. I think time worked differently when I was alive. I hung up there for so long, always choking, the rope still around my neck, aware of the start of each night. No one ever came to let me down until you. I think I tried counting the days, but you can’t count when you’re choking.”

Keris sniffs. “I’m sorry,” she says miserably. “I should’ve... should’ve...”

She stalls, the guilt and empathy hanging over her but unable to come up with anything a five-year old child could have actually done.

“I... I don’t remember much from that time,” she admits instead, soft and sad. “From Before. I don’t even know if I was blessed when I was a baby - Xasan knew the ritual, but he said he wasn’t there when I was born. I only remembered bits and pieces about Baisha and our old home until I found it again.”

“Yes,” Maryam says. Her breath rattles, but she’s looking at Keris from where she lies. “I... I think I wanted you and Ali to not just be Tairans. You weren’t meant to just be villagers in a small mountain town. It’s hard to... to remember the good times, but I know they existed. Like someone told me about them once. I think I must have succeeded with you. You understand about proper revenge, don’t you? All of us know it - even farmers and,” she makes a disgusted noise, “goat herders. You know not to rest while your mother’s killer still breathes, because that’s how it should be. You learned the ways in blood, salt and milk.”

“They’ll know them too, then,” Keris murmurs, petting Ogin’s hair as it curls around her fingers. Kali sneezes, and there’s a faint rush of air and a prickle of downy feathers against Keris’s chest as she shifts into her hawk-chick form. Keris tenses for a moment, but she doesn’t start cheeping or pecking, so after a moment’s hesitation she just tugs the fabric tighter around the little bird and turns her attention back to her mother.

“What was papa like?” she asks, noting the comment about goat-herders but letting it slide for the moment. “I asked Xasan about him, but he couldn’t tell me much, and... and I want to _know_ , mama. Before we find him and get revenge for you. What was he like? How did you fall in love with him? Why did he catch your eye, all the way back then?” She blushes. “I... I have someone I love too. We could trade stories?”

The ghost shifts, and lets out a choking noise that might as well be a sigh. “Does it really matter?” she asks. “Will those stories bring me back? Will they get me my revenge?”

Keris flinches. But rallies. “... they won’t stop you getting it,” she says in a small voice. “A-and... and... af-after you get it, if,” she gulps, “if you’re satisfied with having killed all of them, you’ll... we’ll build a f-funeral pyre for you, and you’ll go. You’ll move on.” Her voice cracks a little. “I’d like to share some of the stories we should have got to have together before then. The ones we would have had together, if... if they hadn’t stopped you being there for me.”

((Playing off Maryam’s regret at her death meaning she didn’t get to be there for Keris growing up, which she mentioned before Keris cut her down and which is related to why she wants revenge. Also obviously playing off any love for her daughter and just a straight-up tugging of the heartstrings.))

It seems to be the talk about revenge and the proper way of doing things that coaxes her into talking. “You should know how things were, what they _stole_ from us, what they took away and burned like the house,” her mother hisses through her crushed windpipe. “Yes. That is right. I’ll try to think of what I can remember. So many years out in the cold and the wet - it washes away memories of anything else.” 

Keris thinks about her souls and what she’d do if they asked for something like this, and she thinks about the hard hot feelings she has to the two little bundles of joy hidden down her front, and... Maryam just isn’t responding.

But she rallies. Her mother died horribly! So what if she’s more concerned about getting a proper burial?

“What do you want to know?” Maryam asks.

“What... what papa was like,” she decides. “Your story; him and you, and what made you fall in love. And... maybe what it was like with the four of us as a family, him and you and what Ali and me were like when we were little.”

Maryam talks, in fits and starts, in her gasping, breathy voice. She doesn’t really stay on topic - things always invariably come back to her death and the things that were done to her. It’s like talking with Kerisa, and how things always come back in the end to trying to find her parents.

Still, some of the things she learns are things she didn’t know before.

“I was hurt,” she mentions. “My leg. It never really healed or stopped hurting - it just stopped bleeding. Xasan - he took me to the nearest village. To the temple. They had people who could stop me dying. I was scared. I was very scared. I thought I’d die alone, a long way from my people. And that’s what happened in the end. All because of the leg. 

“But I didn’t die yet back then. I didn’t have much time for their religion and all the praying they did. They didn’t care about Ahlat at all, or any of the other gods or goddesses who mattered - just their sun goddess when everyone knows the sun is a man and father of Ahlat.

“I hated being cooped up in there, too. Being stuck in one place was a nightmare. I had to get around. So in the end, I think to get rid of me, they sent me down to Baisha once the worst of the injury was healed when I needed rest, they said.”

“And that’s where he was. The... son of the blacksmith, right?” Keris asks, remembering what Xasan had said.

“Yes. His father was getting old, so he was doing most of the work by then. He was a few years older than me, and worked without a shirt on.” Maryam’s ruined lips peel back, exposing even more of her teeth in a macabre grin.

“Xasan said he was... he said he never knew what you saw in him,” Keris prompts. “That he wasn’t just a settled man who balanced your fire; that he was... close to the spirits and cautious.” It had made her curious at the time, but now that her mother is here to ask, it brings Sasi to mind. Sasi, who also knows secrets and magic that most people don’t, who also speaks to spirits - albeit far mightier ones - and is measured and wary and scared of offending them. Sasi who she loves, like her mama loved her papa.

“He was... different. He wasn’t just a villager,” she rasps. “He knew more about ghosts and demons and other things like that than the sun-worshipping priest. They went to his family, rather than the priest when bad things happened. Some people said they could curse people with bad luck.” She laughs, hoarsely. “If the rumours had been true, the raiders would have kept away. They didn’t.”

Keris thinks about that, and she can sort of see the bond they must have shared. How her papa’s differences made him stand out from the other villagers to a frustrated mercenary, how his knowledge of the spirits and her knowledge of war must have complimented each other - just like how Sasi can do some things and Keris can do others and so they’re stronger together than apart. “The way he treated the spirits; as fearsome things, as things to be scared of,” she murmurs, “did it feel like he was a fighter too? Just on different battlefields, and with different weapons?” She can see how that might have earned her warrior-mother’s respect.

“He went up to the temple so he’d talk to them for me. Just as well. I’d have punched them if I had to talk to them more.” Maryam gives another rictus grin. “Those cowards were safe and sound up there, weren’t they? Did they even help in the aftermath?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” Keris sighs. “Maybe they took some people in, though. And they did help resolve things after I killed the Vakotans who were strangling the town.” She smiled wistfully. “I got revenge on the woman that bought me, too. The one up in Nexus.” Her smile widens to a grin. “That’s where Sasi and I fell in love, mama. She helped me get revenge on Kasseni. We _destroyed_ her together. And Sasi didn’t get anything out of it, but she still helped me anyway. I’m a fighter like you, and she’s not, but she’s so _clever_. She knows so much, and she uses her knowledge as a weapon, and she can take down whole towns and cities with it.”

It’s a patchwork process, getting what she can. And it’s not very happy. Her mother’s bitterness comes through, the fact that she was little better than a cripple in her own eyes, only able to walk short distances and certainly not able to run like she used to be able to. Worse, Keris gets the feeling her mother felt trapped in Baisha. She wanted her children to be more like Daiwye children than Tairans - but one comment tells her that she was disappointed in how Ali turned out. 

And times weren’t easy, either. She lingers over the crop failures the year that Keris was born, that she blames for how small her daughter was. Times got harder and harder as the civil war really kicked in. At first they just thought a new shah would take the throne, but whenever Xasan came back everything always seemed to be falling apart. 

Keris hadn’t known any of this. She hadn’t even really known that her mother could only walk for short distances, because when she’d been tiny her legs had been small and every distance seemed a long way.

“You... you used to bring things, tucked up in your clothes. Field mice. Rats. Lizards. Feral kittens. Baby birds,” Maryam says. She lifts one arm, pointing at Kali’s head which has come up for air. “There’s a bird in your clothes now.”

“That’s Kali,” Keris says, blushing a little. “She’s a godschild - a shapechanger. Human, tiger-cub or... hawk chick. Or maybe an eagle chick; I don’t know what she’ll look like when she’s bigger.” She clears her throat. “Though I guess I, um, never really stopped adopting strays.” She remembers keeping rats and cats when she was on the streets; as pets and as a way to have food if times got hard. There had been that extended period where Rat had tried to train pigeons to steal things for them, too. And then there was Piu and her brothers, and Kuha, and Kerisa, and Calesco’s girls...

“How many did you kill in the town?” Maryam asks. Her croak breaks Keris’ reverie. “How many slave owners did you kill? You should have let me do it. It’s my revenge, daughter.”

“I didn’t find any slave-owners in this town, mama,” Keris promises. “I wouldn’t deny you that, I swear. But I found the trail that leads to them. There’s a sun-child in the town, but he’s not been there long, he’s just a stumbling block. I can distract him while you and the others get past it - and then I’ll catch up and we can follow the trail to the slave mines and kill them all. You can tell me about the proper rituals to give your bones and sooth your hungry ghost too, in case the thing that lurked around your tree tries to follow us. Your bones need to be honoured properly.”

“A sun-child?” Maryam’s voice is a hiss. “They must die! They either let it happen, or helped it happen! If they are the lords of this land, then they owe blood!”

((How old did Ney look, btw?))  
((20s, Keris figures.))

Keris blinks, taken aback at the sudden vehemence. “He... he’s not much older than me, mama, he probably wasn’t even past his tenth year when it happened, let alone a sun-child. Killing him would just slow us down getting to the ones who are _really_ at fault. Isn’t it better to go after the ones who ordered it done before anyone else? And Malra’s silver mines are what makes it rich, so hitting them will hit everything they fund.”

((Hidden Depths Temptress enhanced persuasion roll to stay on track and not mission-creep out into going after powerful enemies who were still just unExalted children when the attack took place. Known Intimacy towards getting revenge is in-line with the social attack, so reduced cost.  
Persuasion+Presence=4+5+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {spiteful suffering, elegant practicality, bottled-up fury} x2 HDT=20. 7x2=14 sux.))

“The sun-worshippers say their lords are the rightful kings.” Maryam’s voice has descended to a gurgle. “Sometimes they’d come to my tree and talk. They’d say things before I cut off their lies. They don’t understand us, daughter. A clan-chief punishes the wrong-doers who owe allegiance to him - or else his blood is owed in vendetta. A sun-child’s life is forfeit in vendetta since their servants killed me!”

That surprises Keris. Not so much that her mother still wants blood - she can see Maryam’s point about a clan-chief owning his people’s sins - but that the people knew her mother was hanging from that tree enough to come and talk to her, but never cut her down or banished her to Lethe. Then the implication sinks in. If they didn’t do anything... one way or another, those people weren’t coming home. Maybe it was the yidak. Maybe it was her mother. Maybe in some way her mother can coax the monster that was also part of her, or call it to her.

Keris knows the little voice inside of her that whispers that maybe the people there were trying find out what was killing all the people isn’t Calesco, because Calesco isn’t in her head at the moment. But it still sounds like Calesco.

((... : (. I was wondering if she might have killed them, but I couldn’t think of how she’d do that while bound to the tree.))

“I’ll... I understand, mama,” she says. “Now, tell me about how to honour your bones properly.”

There’s more talk of proper burial customs among the eastern Harbourhead clans - and that’s something that Keris can’t help but notice her mother isn’t hesitant about remembering. But Maryam is tired and can feel the sun outside, so starts dozing after a while, leaving Keris free.

Urgh. They’re going to need to transport the bones too when they move on. In something that won’t be as convenient as an airship.

She sits down to think about it - nestled between the fleshy wood-organs of the ship, where it’s warm and she can feel the pulsing beat of her creation at her back, with her babies cuddled together and resting their tiny heads on her collarbone. She only means to consider things for a minute or two; flicking through ideas for what vehicle will be best suited to continuing the journey... but she closes her eyes for a moment to weigh up the relative strengths of a horse-drawn carriage and a small barge, and when she opens them again she’s sitting on the white sand of a beach in the Isles, her feet dangling in a stream that cuts through the sand on its way to the shallow blue sea.

A mental prod at her body reveals that she’s sleeping, and will probably get a litany of complaints from various bits if she forces herself to wake up immediately. Dammit.

It’s pleasantly warm here, suggesting she’s closer to the Swamp than the Sea, and overhead there are black birds spiralling against the black sky. Twisting her head, she can look over the grey and green mass of the Swamp to see that there are still a few stars twinkling, surviving despite Calesco’s absense.

Then a boom breaks the peaceful silence, hurting Keris’ ears, and the ground vibrates. It sounds like it’s coming from the seawards direction. It also sounds like Vali.

Keris finds her two youngest souls around the remains of a kiln, picking bits of red-hot shrapnel out of the ground. Zanara is being a girl today, while Vali is wearing a crude facimilie of Keris’ dragon armour made from iron and brass. It must weigh a massive amount, but he doesn’t seem to care.

It’s just as well he’s wearing it because it’s notably dented and there’s a large chunk of red hot shrapnel poking out of the front.

“So, that blew up,” Zanara says, making a note on the list. “What’s next?”

“Some of Haneyl’s fruit, dried out and then soaked in acid!” Vali says happily, digging through his bag.

“Yay!”

“Next for what?” Keris asks, meandering over. “What are you two up to?” She smiles encouragingly. Both pairs of children outside have been unhappy with her today, even if her twins forgave her after being fed and cuddled, but at least Vali and Zanara are having fun.

Vali clanks as he clambers atop the remains of the kiln. “We’re putting things in kilns and seeing if they blow up!” he announces solidly.

“Or if they make anything pretty,” Zanara adds. “But mostly if they blow up. You know, if you put my opals in acid and then hit them with his lightning, they fizz a lot and then there’s a really pretty fireball? But if you heat up Rathan’s mercury with bones from the Ruin, it just smells really bad once the smoke clears, but makes a pretty red powder that I think I can make paint from.”

As Keris looks over the crater pocked beach, she can see that... uh, they’ve blown up quite a few.

She raises her eyebrows, but... well, if they want to spend a day blowing up kilns on a beach to see if they can get anything pretty out of it, it’s their beach and their kilns. “Okay,” she shrugs. “What’s next on the list, then?”

Vali rummages through the bag. “Sea shells wrapped in copper wire, in acid, coated in the red dust we made earlier to see if anything happens with that!” he announces proudly. “What’s up, mum?”

Keris sighs. “It’s... been a long day. Night. Whatever.” She slumps down. “I ran into an annoyingly smart sun-child who guessed some stuff, and Rathan and Calesco are both mad at me, and your grandmother is being...” Her lips twist uncomfortably. “... well, never mind. You think it might help with looking-pretty if I put poisons on the shells? It always makes pretty colours and patterns when I poison something.”

Zanara scowls. “Only do it on half of them! We’ll need to use a different kiln too!” she says bossily, sounding a lot like Haneyl. Her hair is bright green today, possibly indicating she’s missing her big sister. Or possibly that she likes green right now. “I’m making notes on what makes what happen! We’re doing it for alchemy, not for fun!”

“We’re _also_ doing it for alchemy,” Vali corrects her.

“Well, I want to know how to make pretty things and new paint colours,” Zanara counters. She retreats back to a rug piled high with cushions that’s behind a mound of sand, and sprawls there, clapping her hands. A clay cherub appears out from a... well, let’s be honest, it’s basically a bunker... with a plate of grapes for her, and at her glare starts feeding them to her one by one. “Come on, sit down Keris, and you can have some grapes too.”

Never one to pass up an opportunity for food and fun - and alchemy - Keris follow and sits. “We’re due to get another Haneyl-message later today, I think,” she tells them. “Do you want me to pass anything on when I reply?”

Zanara pouts, opening her mouth to admit another grape from her clay-cherub maybe-a-maidservant. Her eyes are slitted like a cat’s, and one is pink while the other is orange. “Tell her she needs to make sure she’s learning fun things,” she says sulkily, her mood only worsened by the reminder that Haneyl is out and about while she isn’t. “And she better be getting her hands on lots of pretty things and clothes and stuff that she can give me as presents. And also that her keruby are acting super weird again and it wasn’t even my fault at all!”

Keris shoots her a narrow look at the implication that it _was_ her fault the first time, but lets it go. “Vali, anything from you?” she asks. “And what’ve the two of you been doing, apart from kiln-alchemy?”

Vali shrugs from where he’s hammering sand into a new kiln. “Tell her that she shouldn’t let herself get fat or soft, and that I’m totally getting taller and next time I see her I’m going to be so tall she can’t put her hand on my head and hold me out at arms length!”

((*snrrk*))

“You realise she’s going to take that as a challenge, right?” Keris grins. “Both parts.”

“Of course,” Vali says, bringing his hand down in a flash which glass-forges a section of sand. “That’s why I said it. She’s probably spending the time in An Teng being all soft like Sasi and eating a lot and she’s probably not even fighting _anything_. She better not get boring!”

“Alright, I’ll let her know,” Keris chuckles. “Here, gimme half of those shells and I’ll start putting poison on them. You want it normal or the kind that mutates things?”

“Mutates, _obviously_ ,” Zanara calls out from where she’s still eating grapes. “So what’s up with Rathan and Calesco?”

“They don’t agree on stuff,” Vali agrees.

“Well, no,” Keris agrees. “Though they’re getting along better since I had the twins. But now they’re both mad because of... well, because of mama. And because I spent so long out dealing with that sun-child.” She sighs. “And because I’m not giving up on the quest even though we’re heading into sun-child territory, and because I think they’re missing Haneyl and the southwest, and... oh, there’s a bunch of reasons.” She slumps. “They’re not at the point of yelling at me, but they’re not happy. They want me to turn back and go home, even though I can’t.”

“‘Course you can,” Vali says immediately. “It’s just a place. You can go home if you want to, and I’ll punch anyone who says you can’t!”

“Papa might still be in the slave mines,” Keris says _again_ , for what feels like the hundredth time today. “And mama’s killers still haven’t been punished. A daughter doesn’t rest while her mother’s killer still breathes. I can’t just _give up_ now, after coming so far and before finding papa and getting vengeance.”

Vali shrugs. “That’s different. But you’re not allowed to say you can’t go somewhere! That’s different! You can! You just don’t want to.”

Keris doesn’t really see the distinction, but... she shrugs. “Fine, if you like. But that’s what they’re upset about. Because I _won’t_. And because I’m going back into town tonight to distract Ney while they sneak past.” She glances at Zanara. “I’ll see if I can get him to let me have another look at the canvasbirds if there’s time.”

“Yay,” Zanara says idly, flapping a hand at Keris. She kicks off her shoes and contrives to sprawl even more. The total lack of caring she’s showing is sort of getting on Keris’ nerves. “I liked Terema, but I think this town was sort of boring colour-wise. It’s all so... sand-coloured. Although the greenhouses were nice. Keris, build one when we get back home. Or maybe an... an anti-greenhouse. Some kind of coldhouse for growing cold place plants.” Her eyes focus. “Or maybe just... get people to pay you to be an artist so you can redecorate an entire temple.”

“Or a street!” Vali says.

“A whole town, to make it the prettiest place possible!” Zanara says, mouth full of grapes.

“There’s not much room for another town on Saata,” Keris points out. “I’d have to find another island... huh.” She taps her lips with a hair tendril. “There’s Shuu Mua, come to think of it. We know there are wyld zones in there. I could set up a little plateau of my own - and shape it just the way I wanted, if I learnt how to force the Wyld into being real. And that’d be a nice fallback place to hide stuff.”

Zanara puts on her most pleading little girl face, and walks barefoot over to Keris holding the grapes. She offers them as a gift. “Keris, pretty pretty please can I have time out to help you with that? Or even for the house on Saata you want to get! You’ll want someone to help you with the decorating and the rebuilding and I only got a tiny bit out in Hell!”

“I didn’t get out at all!” Vali counters. “I deserve being out more!”

“No, no, we shouldn’t fight about that,” Zanara says quickly. “That’s what they want!”

“They?”

“Everyone else! They want us fighting over one slot, when Keris has _three_ people out right now! We can go out together! But I’m just best for redecorating a mansion to be pretty, while you build the secret underground layers that other people don’t need to look at!” She pauses. “And that’s why you need to get lots of silver here and use it to buy yourself a mansion on Saata! So Rathan and Cally are wrong! You can’t leave, not until you’re rich!”

“Sasi can summon you too - and can’t bind you,” Keris reminds them. “So I’ll ask her for a favour and have her summon Zanara while I call Vali out myself; that way you can both come out and help on the same new moon. And yes, I’ll give you both some time helping on my manor-house when we get back to Saata. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah!” Vali says happily.

“It’ll be a test thing just like we’re testing things now, for the really pretty idea you have!” Zanara adds, passing the grapes to Keris. “Of a whole town that’s just ours which no one else at all made and where we can put things. Like the most beautiful dragon ever that you saved from that misty ruin. If it’s your own town, you can put it on display because art is most pretty when people can see it.”

Keris bounces happily in her seat, snagging the grapes one by one with hair-mouths. “Yes,” she agrees happily. “And I can anchor some big working in that to protect the place, and it’ll be better than Malra and the Sceptred Leaf.”

“So much better,” Zanara says with a sigh, giving Keris a big hug around the legs. “We can find out all the best ways to make a city, and give it everything that’s best. And I bet Hanny can make plants that glow in the dark so you can have light at night too! Also, you need to steal samples of all the magic plants here for Hanny and you need to see if they have any books here that talk about what they do with pretty pictures in them! And...”

She talks more at length, but she’s interrupted by the giant many-coloured fireball that rises up from the latest kiln, forming a pillar of flame. 

Coughing, Vali appears from the smoke. “I think we got another burning thing again!” he says, knocking lumps of molten glass that glows every colour of the rainbow off his armour-slash-protective-clothing.

Keris skitters forward in alarm, moving to help him on automatic reflex. Sometimes she rather wishes her little boy wasn’t so casual about recklessly charging around and getting scraped and banged up and hurt. It’s very stressful for a mother to watch.

Vali endures Keris’ mothering, while Zanara retrives a pair of tongs and starts playing with the glass. “I’m calling it glowglass and I’m going to see if I can make windows out of it that also work as lights!” she announces happily. “We gotta remember this recipe! This is super pretty!”

“Is that the kind that had the poison or the dust?” Keris asks, genuinely interested and trying to remember the recipe herself. Sea shells, copper and acid, had it been? She can probably work out a way to replicate that. Or just set Vali and Zanara to making a few batches when she summons them.

Zanara looks at Vali questioningly.

“Poison. Definitely the poison,” he says. “The dust on its own just sort of went sludgy. It wasn’t fun and explody at all!”

“You’ll need Dulmea’s help to make more, then,” Keris says. “She’s the one who holds my poison-making. But you can probably get her to help by promising some of the glass to her for the City.”

“I was just going to pay Eko in ribbons to steal it,” Zanara says with a shrug. “It sounds easier.”

Keris rolls her eyes. “If you want. Just remember it might only work with her special poisons that she makes herself.”

Keris is awoken by a tugging on her sleeve. It’s Kerisa, squatting beside her with her mask staring blankly at Keris. “I found you. Rathan said you were playing hide and seek.”

“... I suppose I was, sort of,” Keris agrees. She glances over at Maryam’s bones and the carven death-mask, but her mother’s ghost still seems to be dozing. “Did you ever come up to the plateau we’re on, sweetie?” she adds. “With your parents, maybe?”

She’s starting to get the hang of talking to ghosts. It feels a little wrong to manipulate them by slipping references to their obsessions into conversation, but... it does make it easier to hold a conversation that doesn’t just loop back on itself endlessly.

“Where are we?” Kerisa asks. “What’re the names of the big cities? I might know them! We did the cities in class! Like Deheleshen and Hollow and Chiascuro!”

Keris purses her lips. “Uh, we’re on the northern Tairan plateau,” she says. “Malra? But I think that name is more recent than you. If you know where Terema is, we’re almost straight west of that by a bit over three hundred miles.”

“Urgh, that’s a long way away,” Kerisa says, her tone of voice reminding Keris that she was, after all, very little when she died. “Do you think they might be here?”

Feeling even guiltier, with the good mood from her nap already wearing off, Keris takes her hand. “Maybe,” she whispers. “I found my mama, you know. But not my papa yet. And she...” she gulps. “It turns out she died too, a bit like you did.”

“I know, there’s another ghost on the ship.” Keris wraps her arms around herself, hugging her tattered old dress tight. “I don’t want to go near her. She’s scary and angry. Long ago some of the other ghosts were angry. They didn’t want to play. They didn’t want to wait, either. They were just really angry. We had to move their bodies away from the rest of us, as far as we could, because they were angry all the time and they were mean.”

“She’s angry at the people who killed her,” Keris says softly. “I’m hoping I can help her get justice and that she’ll stop being angry then. I’m sorry she scares you, sweetheart.” She sighs. “Tell you what. I’m expecting a visit from a little blue-glass fox spirit today, carrying a message from my, uh... my partner, and my daughter. If it’s about the hour I think it is, it should be arriving soon. Do you want to wait with me for it to arrive, and tell me stories about how Eshtock used to be in the meantime?”

Kerisa nods silently, drifting up to where Keris sits and making herself comfortable. She shifts away from Keris’ babies, who are still sleeping inside her clothes, and leans against Keris’ legs. She’s cold and damp and her flesh is a little too giving, like the rotten corpses that’d sometimes drift down on the Nexan canals. But at least she’s here to talk to Keris, and she’s even willing to play with the babies.

“I had a little brother,” she tells Keris. “But he died, and he didn’t stay behind. He was very little. None of the very little babies stayed. I think you need to be able to talk to stay.”

“You need to care about something so much you won’t let death stop you doing it, I think,” Keris murmurs. “You’re an incredibly strong-willed little girl. I bet you’d have changed the whole world if you hadn’t been stuck in those mists for all that time. But I guess little babies can’t really care that strongly about things. Kali and Ogin are mostly concerned about being warm and when the next milk is coming.”

“They’re lucky,” Kerisa says, looking down at them, and she huddles up into a ball, hugging her legs. Her whole posture radiates misery. “I... I wish my mama was there for me, like you are for them. I... I miss her so much.” Her shoulders shake with quiet sobs.

Keris wraps an arm around the little ghost and guides her into her side, murmuring soft apologies and soothing reassurances. Kerisa’s lot in life was... well, Kerisa’s lot in _life_ was short and ended horribly, and the hand she’s been dealt in death is cruel enough to make Keris miserable in sympathy. It’s not fair that she’s searching endlessly for parents who she’ll never find - and it’s equally unfair that trying to convince her of that will only upset her more, and probably glance off the stubbornness that’s kept her going for so very long.

Kerisa sinks into the hug, and she’s still there when the little glass fox arrives, as is customary.

“Dear one,” Sasi begins, as is customary, “how are you faring? I haven’t heard for you in a while, and I - and Haneyl, of course - are missing you. I hope things are going well with you.” It’s all very peaceful and domestic, and apparently not much is going on there. Sasi mentions a dinner that she’s going to be taking Haneyl to.

“Now, in other matters, I’ve been keeping an eye out for that child you wanted to acquire. I’m afraid I’ve had not much luck,” Sasi admits. “Few people are in debt enough that giving up their child is something reasonable, and I’d need someone who wouldn’t hold a grudge. And as for your request of at least a little dragon-blood... no, nothing of that nature has come up. I’m sorry, dear one. I could obviously still find you one - for there are plenty of poor girls who would give up an unwanted child for the promise that the babe will be well cared for and grow up wealthy - but the special one you want is going to be much harder.”

There’s enough news from Sasi that Haneyl gets less time than usual, but it’s still lovely to hear from her. She doesn’t have a grudge with her, unlike the other older ones, and she doesn’t seem to want Keris to hurry back to the South West. 

“And the party is going to be so much fun!” Haneyl tells Keris brightly. “I’ve been making the best dresses for me and Sasimana and even one for Aiko although of course she can’t go because she’ll turn into a dragon and get in trouble! And the family hosting it are famous for their private library and Sasimana says that if I impress and am nice to the host, he might let me see it! So much fun!”

“Dear.”

“Oh, right, Sasimana says it’s nearly time up so love you, mama, and send my love to the others!”

Keris sighs as the little fox shatters. She’ll find Rounen and send a message back soon - full of lies about how her search is going well and she’s safe and eating well, which Haneyl will believe and Sasi hopefully won’t pick up on - but for now she nurses her forehead and groans at yet another complication. Little River needs a child when she goes back to Saata and the Hui Cha, and a child with dragon’s blood to boot. Kali and Ogin are too obviously inhuman to pass for hers - which means they’ll be getting a sibling somehow, and Keris will have another precious sweet darling little baby to hold and sing to and cuddle and love, except she _won’t_ at this rate because there’s no dragon-blooded baby for her adopt.

She drops her head into her hands and thumps it a few times, careful not to disturb Kali or Ogin or Kerisa too much. Hah, and will Kerisa be going back with her, too? That’ll be hard to sell to her - and give her _four_ little children to... look... after...

Keris raises her head.

What had Calesco said, back when they’d discussed Kerisa in the Meadows? That a kerub _could_ change their nature, once. And Keris herself had thought that she might be able to... to make Kerisa reincarnate without being wiped away, the same as Yamal had in her. She just hadn’t been able to think of a way to present the idea to Kerisa, or how to arrange for such a thing to happen.

... but if she needs a special baby _anyway_...

“Huh,” Keris murmurs contemplatively. “I think I just had an idea.”

The idea is left to simmer as she gets to work first changing her babies, then planning the way everyone else will move - something not made easier by how the two “loyal” souls she was going to be relying on are sulky teenagers who don’t want to be here and certainly don’t want to be going deeper into Malra. Her first step is to dissolve the airship - it was too obvious even on the assumption of a normal region, and with canvasbirds and carrierhawks flying around it’s a giant floating target. A small barge replaces it - though still large enough that the dozen of them won't be cramped. It’s warm on deck and they’ll be able to spread out more on the banks and in the this way. Keris allows Kashma to choose what she makes this one out of - a trailing willow branch rather than another pine tree - and does her best to reshape the hull and waterwheel to look less obviously like a sorcerous construct grown to purpose.

“I’ll leave a Gale here,” she explains to the gathered crew. “To look after the twins and keep them fed. This me will go into town to keep Ne- to keep the sun-child distracted, because if he’s looking for you we’ll have a lot of awkward questions to answer instead of slipping by more or less untouched. The point isn’t for him not to know we’re passing the town; we just need to keep him thinking that it’s a quest for my parents rather than a spying mission. Which is the truth, and something he doesn’t have any real reason to pursue.”

She claps her hands. “Rathan, you’ll be in charge of talking the boat past the guards. From what I saw they’re just mortals there to note who passes, so look innocent and unthreatening and let them note down that you’re a trader or some such. If you can find a waterway that takes you in a loop around the town and connects back up to the river trail further on; use it - Calesco can refind the trail for you if need be. I’ll snoop around before you set off to make sure there aren’t extra guards posted to look for you, and come in from the other side of town as if we’ve already passed it. Calesco, you keep the twins inside and out of sight. Remember; we don’t need perfect stealth, we just need to be unconnected to the war they’ve got going on. There’s more than one sun-child in Malra, but I doubt there are more than three, and that means they’ve probably got a lot to do - he’ll be off to another part of the war before long.”

((Okay, so it’s a Cog + (lower of Occult and Subterfuge) to reshape the ship so it isn’t obviously magical, raising the difficulty of noticing that it is, in fact, a transformed plant. Moreover, this sailing action is going to be a Travel-based action by Rathan - declare any charms Keris is using to help his dramatic action here))  
((Keris is using Haar-Hidden Dealings to impose a +2 external penalty on all Awareness rolls to notice anything suspicious about the boat - alas, she can’t get the +3 since Kerisa and the girls aren’t Beloved or descendants.  
Disguise roll for the ship is 4+5+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {secrets, kept with guile, ultimate trafficker}=20. 10 sux.))

It takes her some time as she works on the barge with her flesh-weaving tendrils, but Keris saw plenty of barges in Nexus and other places, and she knows how they look.

Rathan, for his part, doesn’t look too impressed with his new vessel. “I preferred the airship,” he grumps.

“Yes, but at least we have more room here,” Oula points out. “And everyone else won’t have to share one small cabin and the cramped below decks bits. Of course, since we don’t have unlimited space I’ll share his room, Aunty Keris.”

“As you like,” Keris agrees. “Now come help me get dressed up so that the sun-child will be good and focused on me and not inclined to go running around a cold forest looking for my travelling companions. I think I can adjust the red-and-gold dress I wore back in the Sceptred Leaf, if I take it in to fit me now that the babies are out.” She runs a hand through her hair, coming out with a loose feather. “And some gold beads, maybe. No weapons, though, more’s the pity. He’d spot them.”

((Well, it’s a Cog + Expression roll, at Diff 3 for Keris to pretty herself up in these somewhat limited situations))

The red-and-gold dress _does_ suit, after some alterations to fit - it’s too formal and pretty and elaborate for everyday use and heavily southwestern, which is why it’s been packed away in Dulmea’s tower and she hasn’t got around to taking it in yet. Maybe that’s for the best, or she might have lost it to the yidak’s claws. Keris adds to it with gold beads hooked into her scalp-piercings and gold paint on her lips and eyes, shifting the ruby-studded earrings Sasi bought her almost two years ago in the markets of Nexus through several different shapes before settling on her favourite three-wave krises. Maybe Ney will get the joke. She dabs just a touch of Oula’s mercury into the scar on her jaw as well, leaving it shimmery-silver instead of white, and puts her hair up in an intricate, looping braided up-do with two tendrils hanging loose on either side. Her feathers help hold the whole thing together, and clink against the gold beads in her hair when she moves her head.

Surveying herself in the mirror, Keris nods in satisfaction. It’ll do well enough for the night.

((4+5+3 Exotic Beauty Style+2 stunt=14. 5 sux. Keris looks very pretty, though not superhumanly so.))

An hour or so later, the weather has cleared up and it’s sunny but cold, with the setting sun painting the western horizon red over the high wooded hills. Keris Dulmeadokht moves through the trees like a woman on a mission. Largely because she is a woman, and is on a mission. In deference to the fact that she has put a considerable amount of work into looking her best, she is careful as she leaps from branch to branch; foregoing the acrobatics she would normally use freely in favour of movements that won’t muss or mar her dress or hair or makeup.

Still, she’s far quicker and stealthier than any human as she does a quick search of the area around the river path, looking for any signs of increased guard presence or watching sun-blessed mortals. She’s given Rathan orders to wait a couple of hours before setting off, so that she can confirm for herself that his route will be clear ahead of time.

((Physique+Subterfuge or Reaction+Awareness? Or both? And an internal penalty for not ruining her #aesthetic?))  
((The first roll for passing unseen; the second for her watching for them))  
((And yes, -3 internal on the stealth thing because of the red and gold and inability to hide))  
((Passing unseen: 5+5+3 Lurking Predator+2 stunt-3 penalty+4 Adorjani ExD {restless, never satisfied, shreds the best-laid plans}=16. 6 sux.  
Hearing threats: 5+5+2 stunt+2 Coadj=14. 8x2+4=20 sux.))  
((And Keris discovers the problem with Tiger Warriors and the fact that they can get up to 4 in Attributes and Abilities, and these are trained ninjas. Who just got 9 successes on the 13 dice for their awareness, but a mere 8 on their stealth.))

Oh yes, indeed, there’s a nice little cordon of Ney’s masked warriors around the town. They’ve spread out into small groups, and changed into greens and browns rather than their snowy whites. Worse, they’re very good at what they do. Yes, admittedly Keris can hear them, but she’s mostly having to do it by how the forest is quieter around them. Somehow they can slow down their heartbeats and their breathing enough that she loses them in the noise of the woods and in the background of the river.

They’re not relaxed. They’re not smoking pipes or huddling around campfires. They’re dressed warmly, hiding in well-placed sentry points that give them commanding views of the area.

And worse, Keris realises with a sinking feeling, she’s run into one of their sentry points without even realising it. Close to the river, there’s one positioned up in some rocky scree from a low hillock, and here she is, pausing in plain sight. She hears the gasp of breath as they see her - but she hasn’t looked at them and she doesn’t think they know she’s seen them.

So, she thinks. She has... two options. Well, three, if she splits one of them in half. She can either go confront them - either violently or more gently - or she can go demand that Ney pull them back. Leaving them there isn’t an option; not if they’re skilled sun-blessed who might be able to overcome Rathan’s aura of innocence.

((Rolling Valour... 2 successes on 2 dice, lol.))

Coming to a halt in the clearing for a moment as if catching her breath, she feels the low bubbling irritation at that... that _annoying_ man rise to the surface again. How dare he post look-outs to try and spot her partner and babies! And she can’t even kill them, because that would anger him and provoke the fight she doesn’t want to have in the first place! She barely suppresses a scowling glare in the general direction of the town, and puts her hands on her hips.

“I know when I’m being watched,” she says tartly, looking around as if suspicious. “Your commander is too _annoyingly smart_ not to post a sentry here. What, did he want advance warning of what kind of dress I’m wearing?”

((aaaand Keris starts tsunning again))

There is, of course, no response. Keris notes that the heartbeats of the watchers slow down even more - she’s not sure if they’re even breathing. These people are good. And if she was relying on eyesight, she doesn’t think she could have found them without sweeping the land. With an annoyed huff and a toss of her head that flicks her hanging braids over her shoulder, she turns on her heel and marches off towards town, with only a brief hesitation. It’s tempting to go yell Ney into getting rid of them... but she can’t guarantee that he will. And it’ll only increase his guess that she has something to hide, so he’d probably do something _frustratingly clever_ like send out a code that means “half of you come back and make a big show of standing down while the other half dig in even further” that he’d prepared ahead of time.

Rrrgh.

No, Keris decides. There’s nothing for it. She’s going to have to take these men out of action - not kill them, but put them out for the count for a while; long enough that her family can slip by. Hopefully they don’t have any inter-squad communication that’ll alert the others to these ones being unconscious.

As soon as she’s far enough that the tree trunks and foliage obscure her from the rise they’re on, Keris’s skin and clothing ripple and shift in colouration to match the background. Dashing up a treetrunk, she circles round them in a wide arc; always careful to stay within the canopy where she can keep a mass of leaves and branches between their eyes and her. Her approach is from directly behind them; deep reddish-pink toxins staining her hands and hair-tendrils as she creeps closer, keeping as many bushes and tree trunks in the way of her approach as possible...

... and nearly tripping over a tripwire into a _beautifully_ well-concealed set of bells that are strung up just where a body would fall onto them, painted in matte colours to blend into the grass and soil. If she hadn’t been running, she’d have fallen - and even the quick forward-flip she turns into disturbs them a little; the tiny motion of the air somehow stirring them far more than it should and generating what would probably be a noticeable jangle if the zone of utter silence around her didn’t stifle it.

Bastards. They’ve laid traps all up the approach. Well, Keris is _good_ at traps, and now she’s annoyed enough to let them have it for their presumption. If they’d just come out and talked, this would have been easier on them! Hmph!

((Using Adorjani silence-zone and dashing to negate the traps, and HPC to camouflage. 5+5+3 Lurking Predator+2 stunt+? cover+5 Metagaos ExSux {stalking, deceptive, someone else’s expense}=15. 10+5=15 sux, plus however many cover dice I get, lol. On the downside, I’m now in the hock for... 4+10+5+5... yeah, somewhere upwards of 25m; or “about half my pool”. Keris will probably flare her caste mark and recover for a while before heading into town once it dies down - and thus be tired from a scene’s strenuous exertion.))

Keris is not a happy bunny by the time she’s scaled the rockface above the hideout. They have far too many traps. They’ve set these up with disgustingly little notice. And worse, they’ve set up traps in places that a human would never try to get to.

They’re either used to people with her kind of mobility, or - perhaps more alarmingly - they _have_ that kind of agility themselves. Oh, she just bets they do, she thinks darkly as she carefully disarms a cunning little mechanism hidden under loose earth that would have sprayed the area with little firecrackers with a tiny pinch of firedust in them.

How the flying fuck are they getting firedust? Are they rich enough to just import it, or are they somehow manufacturing it here?

She’s tired and feeling out of breath, and the hem of her dress is torn! She’s going to need to fix it! She’s in a very, very bad mood as she sits above their well-hidden crevice, hair twitching in irritation.

On the plus side, they don’t know she’s here. There’s a man and two women here, working in a trio like the other groups she’s found here, and she’ll need to take them out quickly if she wants to make them... go away... without raising the alarm.

((Okay, Keris has got here with stealth. Therefore it’s a contested Phys + Melee roll for Keris to take them down before they can raise the alarm - at least to the other ninjas. They’re at Diff 5 because of Keris’ stealth successes, but she’s at Diff 3 because of the demands of non-lethality. Success for her means she takes them out silently - success for them means they get a warning off before she takes them down.))  
((Keris is enhancing with Self-as-Cyclone Stance to multi-tag them with her poison all at once, and will basically be using a combination of clinches, toxin and a bit of bashing damage to get them unconscious quickly without letting them leave her silence-zone. I... guess this increases their Difficulty, or something?  
5+5+3 Wild Alleycat+1 bonus {called shots that blind or hamper the mobility of an opponent}+2 stunt+10 Adorjani ExD=26. Argh, only 9-3=6 sux. Blaaargh.))

Dropping soundlessly onto them, she lashes out. It’s a good thing she left some of her braids free, because it means she has two to hold each opponent down while her toxins sink in, and her legs free to kick whoever’s struggling hardest in the head. Her opening strike is a beautiful three-point combo that snares their legs and tags all three of them with poison.

And then things go downhill as they turn out to be a lot better at close-quarters grappling than she was expecting, and things degenerate into an ugly, uncoordinated, noiseless scuffle. She’s going to need to repair more than just a tiny rip in her dress by the end of this. _Urgh!_ Ney’s subordinates are almost as annoying as he is!

((On the plus side, they only got 5 successes on their roll, so that’s a 0 threshold success. But still terrifying to Keris in that they manage to fight-back ... not well enough, but they managed it))

Keris is shaking by the end of it. Partly with adrenaline. Partly with anger. Partly because if she hadn’t had her silence aura, whatever they were doing with that cone-shaped thing they had with them would have worked, rather than the man looking confused at it when it failed to make noise.

She smashes it, and feels a bit better.

On the plus side, she at least has their hide-out - which turns out to be a comfortable little cave-dwelling built into the side of the hill. She sighs in relief. At least they hadn’t built this place right now. It’s clearly a pre-prepared watching place for when they need to spy on the river traffic in a way that’s much neater than the tollgate down on the road.

And it’s a very nice place, she finds when she heads back into the cave and casually picks the lock of the door that’s hidden behind a fake stone wall. There’s a small kitchen, cramped bunkbeds, stores of clothing and weapons and food, and - her eyes widen in surprise - even a concealed escape route barely wide enough for one person which cuts through the hill and must have been where they were presuably planning to go.

((So, this is a nice little spy station that’s actually really comfortable and homey behind the false walls. Keris finds a bunch of their uniforms, personal possessions, and some of their nice compact crossbows and a clever design of spear that folds down for travel.))  
((yes, the uniforms come with the masks before you ask))

Keris feels exhausted. She feels weak and hollow within. And so - reluctantly - she lets the tightly-controlled veil over her soul fall and bares her nature to the world as a glowing green empty circle on her brow; letting warmth and energy rush through her limbs again and refresh her spirit.

She immediately feels better, and takes advantage of the high to pilfer all of the weapons and all but one of the masks, paint a taunting message about how snubbing a lady in conversation is rude on the last one and hang it on the wall, then get started on fixing her dress. And hair. And makeup, where one of them elbowed her in the face and smudged her gold eyeshadow.

Grr.

Her dress is mended in relatively short order, but her soul will take a while to die down, so - after embellishing the calligraphy on her taunting mask-message a little more - Keris settles herself by sketching the canvasbirds from memory and making a few hypothetical notes on how to make a little toy one for her cihldren to play with. She takes the precaution of tying the unconscious soldiers to three of the bunks, though not tightly enough that they’ll be unable to get loose. It’ll slow them down if they wake up early, though. And they won’t have their pretty costumes.

By the time the empty circle on her forehead has died down, Keris is refreshed, considerably more relaxed and presentable once more; albeit a little tired and achey from the fight.

She’s also pushing the edge of her promised arrival time, and makes haste on her way into town; detouring en-route to hang the bag with the spears and crossbows from a nondescript tree along the river where she can pick it up later as she leaves.

((Quick Phys + Athletics to see if she actually arrives on time, Diff 3. :p))  
((I’m half-tempted to deliberately fail and be tsun about it. We shall let the dice decide.  
5+5+2 stunt=12; 9 sux.))

When Keris shows up, you’d hardly think she’d just sprinted here after taking out three hardened scouts trained by one of the chosen of the Sun. She arrives barely in the nick of time, and...

... and he’s not there. He’s late.

There are two possibilities for why, she concludes. One; he has taken advantage of the time he knew _she_ would be coming to _him_ to go peek at her allies in person or do a final round of his sentries. Two; he’s a lazy bum who didn’t think it worth showing up on time.

Either way, she sort of wants to stab him.

But the first option niggles at her hindbrain, driving her further and further into edgy discomfort as the seconds tick by. What if that’s exactly what he’s doing? What if the whole reason he invited her here - made her _promise_ to be here - was to have a time he knew she’d be in the town and not with her babies? What if his plan was exactly the same as hers; to distract the primary concentration force on her side?

What if he’s looking at Rathan and Calesco and Kali and Ogin _right now?_

((Only 1 sux on Cowardice Keeps Me Safe vs 1 sux on Conviction, so she’s not changed her mind yet, but he probably only has a leeway of a few minutes at best before her paranoia rears up and she goes dashing back to her babies to protect them from some imagined threat.))  
((goddammit it didn’t occur to me that her plan could cut both ways))  
((this man is _so annoying_ ))

Keris is jittery. Maybe he’s just late! Or he’s watching her from the rooftops! Or maybe he’s doing something or... ah!

Keris’ eyes narrow. There’s a dark-skinned man over there, the one passing the veiled woman in white. If it’s him, he’s disguised himself well, but he’s still about the right height and skin colour and build, and he carries himself like someone who’s a little too alert. He’s sitting down on one of the stone benches, acting all casual, but he keeps on giving little glances in her direction out of the corner of his eye.

She glares at him. “Well, _I_ showed up to the date I was invited on,” she announces to the surroundings at large. “It’s a terrible, rude and _unattractive_ man who stands a lady up, but it looks like my dinner companion is too scared or too _lazy_ to show his face, so...”

With another flick of her hair, she turns and starts sauntering off, hips swaying and head held high in haughty offended disdain.

“Now now,” says the veiled woman in white in his voice, pulling off her veil to reveal Ney’s face. Or at least half of it. Because somehow he was wearing his mask under the veil, despite the fact of how gauzy it was. “I have a really good reason for being late,” he adds, as he strips off the woman’s clothing to reveal he’s wearing a moderately smart and rather rumpled dark blue robe trimmed in gold. Somehow.

Also, he straightens up as he pulls off the outer white robe, and somehow by doing that gains a good twenty centimetres. It’s very confusing, and makes Keris’ head hurt. Somehow the robe was also even making him breathe like a woman.

“Please hear me out,” he says, passing the good quality clothes to the nearest passing woman, adding “Keep this,” as he approaches Keris. “Trust me, you wouldn’t believe what a hassle today has been.”

Keris stares blankly at him, genuinely thrown for a moment. She recovers quickly, though; raising a challenging eyebrow and propping her hands on her hips. “Oh?”

“Well, there was this onion farmer I met, and he just needed so much help in harvesting his crops,” he says. “Now, of course, I did point out to him that it wasn’t the Season to harvest onions, but he raised the fair point that that may indeed have been the case, but then why did he have all these onions. La, la, I couldn’t really argue with him, so I got dragged into helping him with his crops. Of course, only part way through did I realise he was in fact a soul-eating prince of chaos, so I wound up challenging him to a riddle contest. Now, I am a rather charming man, and very clever to so you wouldn’t be surprised that I did in fact win - but then his daughter fell for me. And that was when my problems started. You wouldn’t believe how hideous she was. And I told her again and again that I had a date with you this evening, but she just didn’t want to listen...”

((... 13 successes on 14 dice, lol))

Ney goes on for quite some time, telling the strangely believable story of how he was pursued by this chaos-princess hag who wanted his hand in marriage and the many epic and troublesome journeys he’s been on since lunch, and how he was hiding as a woman to avoid the chaos princess - who fortunately he managed to trick into disbelieving in herself and she vanished in a puff of logic.

“And that’s why I was late, and was dressed up as a woman,” he concludes.

((...))  
((KAKASHI))  
((He has concluded that Keris likes a man who can tell big whopping fibs to her face.))  
((he is almost certainly correct))  
((he is correct))  
((also dammit stop making me ship them; that’s something Rat could do as well))

The really annoying thing, Keris thinks, is that given some of the ridiculous things _she’s_ got up to in very short periods of time with no warning or advance notice - like going from waving Sasi goodbye to hiding on a Lintha pirate ship in the space of an afternoon, or infiltrating a Lookshyian fort on what amounted to a whim - she can’t actually be completely certain he’s lying. And the way he phrases the bits about the chaos prince seem to mesh with what she’s experienced of their breed herself. And a war-torn place like Taira _would_ be good hunting ground for a hungry soul-eating raksha.

Of course, that doesn’t mean she can’t call him out on it anyway.

“Liar,” she says, with a hint of amusement in her voice and a narrow-eyed stare. “More like you were off making clever little plans for how to woo me or sneak around our deal to leave my babies alone. Hmph!” She taps her foot. “Well, I suppose I can forgive you if you make this more than just a dinner. I expect to see some beautiful artpieces - maybe the canvasbirds again, or something else that meets my standards. If it’s not on that level, it’s not worth my time, you hear me?”

“Ah, women are so mean and suspicious,” he says sadly, his eyes drooping down in a comically overblown expression. “Maybe I’d have been better off taking my luck with the chaos princess. Perhaps she has a sister. Well, had.” He shrugs. “So how was your day, mysterious-yet-cruel redhead?”

Keris can give as good as she gets on that score, and sighs dramatically. “Ah, my adorable babies are mad at me,” she says mournfully. “Because I left them all alone and hungry while an irritatingly clever man wined and dined me. I had to do a lot of making-up and feeding and pampering before they forgave me, and then they helped me get ready for my date.” She twirls, displaying her attire for inspection and fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly. “How do you think they did?”

((Per+Expression=4+5+2 stunt+3 Exotic Beauty+5 Kimmy ExD=19, enhancing with Attention-Holding Grace to drop the irritation and slide into charming beautiful doe-eyed heartthrob mode. Bah, only 4 sux - and 5 for the AHD effect.))  
((dammit keris stop sliding between being the Predator and having moe luck))

“Of the two dangerous ferocious and vicious ladies I’ve met today, you are most certainly the prettiest,” he tells her gallantly, with an idle smile that makes his eyes crease up. He looks away, taking note of how everyone around her is paying attention to her. “Oh dear, you seem to be captivating their minds with your radiant beauty,” he adds. “Clearly I need to get you inside, or I might have competition. And then I’d have to fight an honour duel for your hand, and that just sounds like effort. Also, not fair to the other man. Or apparently the other woman either, given how some of them are reacting. Well, well, I happen to be borrowing a townhouse here, so why don’t we proceed there before we’re all overcome with the desire to worship the ground your feet tread?”

Pouting, but somewhat encouraged at the lack of offence he seems to be taking, Keris lets him lead the way. “Would worshipping at my feet be such a bad thing, though?” she quips. “And who is this other woman? Do _I_ have competition?” She pauses. “Will I need to fight an honour duel?” she adds, slightly interested.

The crowd, of course, follows after the pair of them like water following a streambed, and Keris throws a smile or two over her shoulder in between her focus on Ney. There’s no particular reason for her to handle the increasingly envious looks being thrown at him when she can just wait and see what he does instead.

“Why, the chaos princess, of course,” he says, flapping his hand at her. “I’m hurt, hurt, hurt that you don’t believe me. No one around here could compare to you in beauty, and neither in lethality now that she unmade herself.”

Ney’s borrowed townhouse isn’t the largest of the ones towards the centre of the town, but it still has a greenhouse on top. The plants twining around it have curled their way to it, and seem to have specific openings into the heated place. A neatly dressed servant lets them in, and it’s only slightly ruined by the fact that Keris notices that firstly she isn’t captivated by her beauty, and secondly that she burns with a weak sun radiance that Keris can feel against her face.

((Solar Essence, Enlightenment 3))

On the inside, things are decorated rather differently - and not purely in the Tairan style. There are quite a lot of war trophies hanging up here, as well as cattle skins and other things that Xasan has described to Keris as being from Harbourhead. He’s made himself at home.

Ney leads Keris through to a well-lit room that faces the sunset. “Drinks?” he asks. “What do you fancy?” He gestures over to a quite prodigous sideboard.

Keris comes _very close_ to automatically saying “chalcanth”, and has to stomp on that part of her mind hard. She’s relaxing too much around him - it’s too much _fun_ being around him, and she’s forgetting her mother’s words. Grr. “Put those observation skills to use and surprise me with something I’ll like,” she says instead. “And can I use my hair freely in here? You already know about it, and it’s such a pain keeping it under wraps.”

“But they’re such pretty wraps,” he says, eyeing her up curiously. “Hmm. I don’t think I have your favourite drink here. It’s a bit of a pain. The civil war makes it hard to get anything from the east of here, and that means there’s no Forksian vintages... no, that’s not it.” He spreads his hands. “Interestingly, I note you’re not fond of Tairan plum wine. You winced slightly when you looked at it. Bad memories?”

Huffing, Keris looks away. “A woman who was nearly as irritating as you,” she says, and then remembers the plate. And the way Illana had tricked her into letting the grudge about the plate go. “Wait, no, more irritating,” she corrects herself. On the other hand, those annoying sun-blessed watchers in the hide... “ _As_ irritating. I can’t decide. And I left a few braids free, see?” She waves one at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep it looking pretty for you, since you like it so much.”

((Most of Keris’s hair is in a big intricate updo that Padme would be proud of - with two of her hair tendrils dedicated to basically holding it in place - but she has four plaits falling out of it; two on each side, one pair high and one pair low. So, you know, she can do some hair-limb things, even if her effective reach is shortened to only arm’s length. Her intent is actually to watch him as she uses it casually and see if he shows the same discomfort that Kasseni did back in Nexus when she made a point of using it in front of her.))  
((Also it genuinely does irritate her having to carefully keep it still and think about which limbs she’s using, which he noticed on their last date.))

“Then I think you’d like this apple cordial,” he says, thoughtfully, selecting something in a bottle that gleams in the light. “It came all the way up the coast from Chiascuro - as did the crystal bottle.” When he unstoppers the bottle, Keris can smell the scent of fresh apple blossom wafting her way. He picks up two small glasses made of the same crystal, and pours out two small measures, offering her one.

Still not quite trusting of him, she takes it in a hair-tendril and tries a small, careful sip before drinking more deeply. Turning her attention to the trophies mounted on the walls, she runs her fingers along the length of a spear and delicately brushes the ends of another plait over an ornamental wooden mask; fascinated by these glimpses into the cultural heritage she’s linked to through birth and baptism.

((It is excellent. It tastes like fresh apples, but despite that it has quite a kick to it - she can taste the alcohol.  
Annoyingly, that means he’s probably worked out ‘Apples are the Best’ and can invoke it.))

As she wanders around the room; letting him watch her explore for the moment, she keeps an ear trained on him. She’s not just letting herself move naturally because it’s more comfortable - though it certainly is that. She’s also noting his reaction to her casual use of her hair as an extra set of limbs; knowing its demonic origin. Kasseni was the last person she did this so deliberately in front of - and that bitch of a woman had been unsettled by it, however hard she’d tried to hide her discomfort.

He doesn’t show any signs of discomfort - she suspects he’s seen such things before. And given he did recognise them as being like an angyalka... well, that suggests some familiarity there.

“I don’t use all of these,” he says, noticing where she’s looking. “They’re trophies - things I took when the Vawiya clan started raiding first the borders, then pushing in deeper.” He raises his eyebrows at her. “How do you think I beat them and stopped the attacks?”

Vawiya. Keris adds the name to memory, along with the other highland clans she’s been told of - mostly just the Daiwye and the clans involved in their scattering. “I wouldn’t know,” she shrugs. “I never learned much about the highland clans, given what happened to me. My mother would have taught me that, and she wasn’t able to be there for me.” She can’t quite hide a flicker of grief, and sighs. “Though, if we’re talking about the clans... that thing down in the valley. Tell me about it, would you? Because I saw cattle and lion and hyena in her, and I know all of them have links to Harbourhead.”

Ney nods, and though he’s still smiling it’s something Keris can see is a mask. “Such creatures are... an evil thing in Harbourhead. Evil spirits sometimes return with the body of a hyena, the face of a starving lion, and the horns of a mangey cattle - but those are usually the size of a dog. That monster - it is as big as an ox, if not larger. It means it is potent in its evil - and it has not accepted the attempts to placate it.”

Keris winces. “I’m... not surprised, honestly. She’s as strong as a demon lord, did you know that? All the souls she’s eaten. And she fights like...” Me, she doesn’t finish. “A coward, or an ambush predator, with those ice storms she can call up. You said she nearly killed you once? I’d be surprised if anyone slower or weaker who tried to placate her lasted much longer than gaining her notice.”

She remembers to scowl. “It’s not often something gets the drop on me,” she adds, covering for her interest. “You didn’t. It did. Do you know what killed it, how long it’s been plaguing the region?”

((Keris is dropping BOT to cover her interest.))  
((Roll ‘em))  
((4+5+2 stunt+Enlightenment autosux=11. 2+4=6 sux.))  
((Activates Sagacious Reading of Intent - one sentance summary, what does Keris hope to gain by using BOT?))  
((Preventing him from wanting to know why she’s so interested in this yidak and whether she might have more reason for asking than just having been attacked by it and taken by surprise (with her pride thus being stung). She, sigh, hasn’t IC noticed that she’s slipping into “she/her” pronouns rather than “it” when she focuses on it being the yidak of _her mother_ rather than a soul-eating monster, so she’s not actively intending to hide that.))  
((Okay, so that doesn’t block it as it’s not fundamentally hostile. Oh Keris, your natural tendencies help you well when facing SROI))  
((: P))  
((I was half-hoping it’d fail, because her Charm use so far is making her out to be a reasonably strong 1CD-level Hellish thing with powers focused around social stuff and going unnoticed and maybe running away.))  
((Also that read-out would totally have him put the sad story together instantly.))  
((I’m, heh, sort of playing on two levels here; IC stuff that makes sense for her to do but also OOC things she’s slipping up on with a narrative intent behind them.))

Ney rolls his shoulders. “I couldn’t say. It was already a local legend by the time I started doing... well, what I do. It’s been killing travellers and the locals for years, a decade or more - some of them leave animal sacrifices out for it to try to keep it away from their houses on moonless nights.”

“It’s a hungry ghost, right?” Keris turns away from the richly-decorated wall of trophies, knocking back the rest of the cordial. “What would you even do, if you could find its body? _Are_ there Harbourhead rituals to placate something like that and lay it to rest again? The dog-sized ones, at least?”

He pours her another drink. “What do I look like, a wise man?” he says. “As my mama could tell you, I make very unwise choices - like getting involved with dangerous and beautiful ladies like you. But I’m not that unwise. I’d never even seen one of them before the Sun spoke to me - and my grandpa, who had, said that they lured it into a salt circle with meat and then the wise woman dealt with it while everyone else purified themselves and burnt their hair. Sensible people don’t meddle with ghosts. They bring bad luck.” His accent thickens as he says this.

Drat, Keris thinks. No help there, then. She was hoping he could confirm some of the things Maryam told her.

“Well, enough about such nasty topics, then,” she says brightly. “When are we eating? I spent all day feeding a pair of insatiable little ones who bite, so I could use another nice big meal. And you can use the time to think about what art you’re going to show me, hmm?”

“I suppose it’s too much that showing body art would satisify you?” he says, perking up. “Who knows what interesting displays could be under my clothes, just waiting for someone with artistic taste to examine them.” He pauses, waiting for Keris’ answer. “But while you contemplate the wonders you might see, there’s been half a cow cooking for most of the day. That’s why I needed onions, you realise.” 

In the room next door, there’s a low table on plenty of rugs and cushions, with freshly cooked bread platters already on the table and waiting for them. “After you,” he says.

Keris’s answer is to make an inarticulate happy noise and beeline for the table, sinking into perfect seiza and automatically starting to pluck a melody from the strands of Time with her hands. Dulmea has trained her to the point that it would be harder _not_ to sit with perfect posture.

((4+5+3 Time-Strung Harpist+2 stunt=14. 6 sux, and she’s displaying elements of Falling Petals Style in how she automatically arranges herself and sits.))

Ney is... less enthusiastic about sitting down. He quirks an eyebrow at her, and strolls in, hands folded up in his sleeves. “Who taught you that?” he ponders out loud. “It wasn’t your parents - but you’re too willing to do it for you to have learned it in Nexus.” He flops down. “I’m not very musical,” he says with a shrug, “so I can’t join in.”

Keris falters for a split-second as she realises how naturally she’s fallen into telltale habits, but recovers smoothly and rolls with it. She sniffs, introducing a bar of disapproval in a minor key, and flicks a braid over her shoulder. “What’s so wrong about having manners?” she demands. “I might not have been an enthusiastic student at first, but I came around. Eventually.” She smirks. “And if you’re not playing, you can contribute by telling me about your town. I like the plants. Did you breed them yourselves or just tame them from wild breeds?”

Ney grins at her wryly. “Oh, I’m awful. I hardly know anything about them or how they work. I know they found the seeds in a ruin that belonged to the ancient Dragon Kings, but from what I understand Malek’s been working on these for decades.”

Interest and excitement ripple through Keris’s melody in a quick, dancing series of light, rising notes. “Malek?” she asks. “Would that be your friend who made the canvasbirds? Except... no, if it’s decades then they can’t be a sun-child; there weren’t any around until recently, so... occultist? Moon-child?” She looks up at him with wide, imploring eyes. “Can’t you _please_ share a little? They’re gorgeous, and I didn’t get a good look when I was last here. And the plants are nice, too. Quiet, clean, constant light that isn’t smelly and doesn’t need fuel.”

((I... think BOT is still active, so that’s covering her trying to weasel as many PRETTY ART THINGS out of him as possible.))

“Malek? Oh, she’s... well, she’s a local noble with Dragon’s blood. Aspected to wood, obviously. From what I heard, she nearly bankrupted herself with working with these Dragon King plants and wound up selling all her lands to fund expeditions and the like - right until the naib found her and basically gave her all the money she needed.” He pauses. “Not from Malra, that is - I think she’s southern, but not around Perswha either.”

“Ahh, a plant-occultist.” Keris grins. “I know someone who’d love to talk to her. She’s done good work, that’s for sure. They do so much! I’m really impressed; I’ve never seen anything like them before.”

As they talk more about these things - her wide eyed and innocent, him fending things off with cosmetic details and never quite giving her the depth she wants - the servants start bringing the main course out. 

Again, Keris notices that they’re all burning sun-bright. Either he’s wary, or he just has his house staffed by highly trained assassin-scouts... because why not, if he can train them like that.

The dishes here aren’t Tairan and they’re nothing like the meal she had with him earlier. There’s rice-based dishes, dyed yellow with saffron with braised goat wrapped in leaves. There’s something with adzuki beams simmered in beef stock mixed with sugar, apples, and butter to make an incredibly rich and almost gelatinous dish. There’s grapefruit slices on pancake-like bread, and there’s plenty of banana-mash to go with the braised beef.

“I felt we could eat like proper people - with proper food from the Highlands,” he says, sitting up to take some of the adzuki bean dish.

This earns him a slow smile. “Giving me a taste of my heritage?” Keris asks. “You’re sweet.” She applies herself to the meal enthusiastically, sampling each blend of flavours carefully and digging in to have her fill before moving on to the next. There’s less talking, though Keris keeps up her music throughout the meal, pausing and stilling her hair only when the servants enter to bring in new plates or clear away old ones.

“So,” she finally says, licking her lips clean and settling contentedly back. “Do you have some pretty art to show me, or shall we bring up some of the things we’ve been avoiding?”

“Well, I could take my robe off,” he says. “I wasn’t joking about the body art. But you’d need to show me yours if you want to see mine. Fair’s fair, after all.”

“Tch! Well, if you’re sure it’s worth my time...” Keris sniffs. “Hmph. I should see some proof first, though, before letting you look at my work. After all,” she grins, sly and wicked, “you’ve already heard me play, so it’s _your_ turn.”

With mock coquettishness, he slides his robe off one shoulder and shows three simple parallel white lines on his right shoulderblade. Or maybe they’re a stylised claw mark. “That’s an old one,” he says. “I got that when I hunted and killed a claw strider that was going after our goats, back when I was fifteen. It was a brute, an old male that had lost an eye and was starving so was a man-eater on top of that. It’d lost all fear of humans.” He winks at her. “I like keeping track of achievements. Call that one just proof.”

“Well, I can’t argue with the quality of the canvas,” Keris concedes. “But unless they all have _very_ interesting stories attached, I’ll want more than that.” She considers him for a moment, feeling more content than usual from the warmth of the room and her full belly. “Urgh, well. I suppose I can show you a few things.”

Scooting back a little, she winks at him and slips a hand under her dress, flicking a sketchbook out of her Domain and drawing it out slowly. Cracking it open cautiously to make sure it’s the right one - yes, this one isn’t her “people” book; it’s mostly mountain landscapes and animals, one or two drawings of the airship that she can probably let him see given it doesn’t exist anymore and the pages she’d filled with drawn-from-memory pictures of the canvasbirds and ideas for little toy versions.

“Here, then,” she says, offering it. “But if you damage my sketches, I’ll take them out of your hide, understand?”

Despite the heated threat, Keris watches quietly as he flips through the book - she quite likes seeing people exclaim in wonder at her art, and also she might learn something. But more than that, it gives her a bit of time to think. She still hasn’t brought up the slaver route going past town. He’d dodged the issue of unpleasant matters in favour of trying to get him into bed again, and if she let him do so she could probably poison him and leave him tied up the same way as his men...

... but her mother’s words linger in the back of her mind. That a clan-chief punishes the wrongdoers who owe allegience to him, or else owes blood in their stead. That a daughter doesn’t rest while her mother’s killer walks the earth. Ney wasn’t around Malra - wasn’t even Exalted or grown yet - when Maryam was killed. But he’s here now, and the slave route is still there.

She needs to know _why_ before she can afford to let herself like him. And that’s to say nothing of trust.

He pulls a heart-broken, eye-watering face at the fact that Keris isn’t playing fair. And tells her that much.

“Well, what is it about the Birds of Transcendant Flight that you like so much?” he asks. “After all, you’ve almost certainly flown before. Perhaps on some kind of demon... since you’re a sorceress, aren’t you? You’re too educated about the occult to be otherwise.”

((Rolling The Love Of Art; 3 successes, lol.))

“It’s not that it _flies_ , stupid,” Keris scolds him. “It’s the _artwork_ , the _craft_ that went into them! Do you even understand how they work? Just from the glimpses I got... every single feather painted on the wings is a prayer strip to the wind gods and the elementals of the sky - a real one, done properly, with power in it! The ropes they use have _magic knotwork_ all along them that make them work like living muscle! The wood’s been treated with... I dunno, at least three different things to make it strong and light and supple, and there’s magic in the varnish as well! It’s... whoever came up with the design took dead things like wood and rope and paint and canvas and made them into something that’s a bare step away from being _alive_ \- not by some spell or even by binding an elemental into it, just by _skill_ and painting and knotting and shaping them perfectly. That’s _genius_ , and it’s _way_ more impressive than just... just throwing magic at a problem and using brute force to solve it! Even if it’s not my style of art, I can appreciate how much effort and time and _care_ went into... went into that... kind of...”

She blinks, and realises that at some point in her rant she stood up and stormed around the table, waving her hands and hair to emphasise her point, and is now looming over Ney and gripping him by the arm. Blushing, she lets go and retreats a few steps.

“Ah, sorry about that,” she mumbles. “I didn’t mean to... um...”

Retreating, Keris sinks back into her seiza position on the other side of the table and fights the urge to pull her hair out of its updo and hide behind it.

Like a _complete asshole_ , he hardly responds to her rant and just grins at her. “‘Fraid you’re right. I just about know how to keep one running in the field, and that’s about it. Trust me, they’re cold and damp to be up in, and the glue in the wings starts coming apart if things are too damp. They’re pretty when you’re not the one flying them.”

Keris scowls through her blush, then reconsiders and shifts into a sultry smile, leaning across the table and letting him not-quite get a glimpse down the top of her dress. “Well, if they’re _that_ terrible, then surely you shouldn’t be up in one at all,” she purrs. “Why not let me take one, as a memento of my stay? I’d be very, _very_ grateful to you...”

((... I am amused enough to drop Hidden Depths Temptress on this even though it’s probably not going to work. Playing off his desire to get her in bed:  
4+5+3 Cerulean Paramour+2 stunt x2 HDT=14. 6x2=12.))  
((Activating SROI - one sentence summary of what she wants to gain from this))  
((... a canvasbird. But, mm. She wants it in about equal measure FOR THE ART, to show to her art-mentor, and also to replicate back in the Southwest for her own purposes after she’s left Taira.))

“Unfortunately,” he says, spreading his hands, “they’re one person things. We just couldn’t go up in one like that. And,” he leans over to flick her in the nose, “I’m sorry, but I really shouldn’t let you make copies of them. I’d be in so much trouble if you did. The naib would be all over my back. And my darling little boys and girls would be very sad if they ever came up against someone else with fliers like that on their side.” He grins. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I just don’t trust the employer who sent you to Taira in the first place.”

((He resists it, on the grounds that her desire to copy it is fundamentally hostile to the organisation he leads - which is his secret ninja force where he doesn’t want to lose the strategic advantage.))

Pouting, Keris affects an injured look. “Mean,” she complains. “I told you, my job here is done, and it didn’t even happen anywhere near here. All I’m here for now is to find my parents. Don’t you trust my word? I’m hurt, Ney. Hurt.”

She sighs. She really doesn’t want to bring this evening to an end. She’s having fun. But she’s on the topic now, and if he’s not going to show her any pretty art there’s no real reason not to move things along.

“And since I mentioned my parents... the trail I found leads past this town. The slaver barge came down the river trail, years back. I’d normally let that go and forgive... except that I helped myself to a look at some of your records, and there are _still_ slaves being taken along it. Hundreds of them.” She fixes Ney with a look. “Could you be a _darling_ and tell me where they’re going, and why you’re still doing that to people? Because that doesn’t sound very nice.”

Ney raises his eyebrows. “Slaves are taken in the war,” he says, almost bluntly. “That’s how it is. How it has always been. You might not have grown up in the highlands, but that’s how things go. Surely you know that? The clans raid each other all the time and sell the losers to lowland buyers. Something like one in every four in Harbourhead is a slave - criminals, captives, and the children of those who have been enslaved. And you’re Tairan as well as a highlander - ah, you’re north-eastern rather than north-western? But the southern lords have always done that - Pershwa isn’t all that different from south-eastern Harbourhead.”

He looks her in the eye. “But the naib has passed the same laws of freedom as Harbourhead has had for years. The children of those who are born as slaves will be free. That’s fair.”

((Rolling Never Be Chained Again, doo de doo... oh dear, 3 successes again.))

A faint red haze descends.

“So my parents and me were sold as slaves,” Keris says, with impressive but rapidly-fraying calm. “After our village was razed and our family torn apart and our people sold and scattered. My mother is dead, my father lost, my brother grew up alone and I was cast to the streets for twelve years. But any little siblings I got would be free, in your land, cut off from their heritage and their sisters and brothers and mothers-of-mothers and fathers-of-fathers, raised by strangers or by slaves who work all day in your mines for nothing. And that makes it _fair_.”

Her braids are coiling behind her, lashing from side to side, the silver feathers rasping across each other with a noise like drawn steel. Her hands tremble on the table with the effort of not breaking anything, and the pounding drumbeat of Vali’s birth echoes in her ears. “Those are the laws of _freedom_ ,” she spits.

“Fairer than most,” he says. There’s sympathy in his eyes, and that makes it more painful somehow. “Fairer than the laws that there were before I spoke in their favour. Would you say that Nexus’ laws are better? That Tairan laws are better? That the Realm’s laws are better? Ha! In Harbourhead, only criminals are sold to the Realm. Selling those defeated in battle to a place where their grandchildren will never be free gets slave rebellions.”

He leans back. “Do you want to follow the way of the highlands, or not?” he asks. “Because you’re seeking vengance for your mother, the ghost-monster of the valley. Yes? That’s good. That’s what a daughter should do. I wouldn’t stand in the way of a daughter looking for the man who killed her parent. But if you want to live by highland law, then you cannot rage and scream when the losers in war are enslaved.” He leans forwards now, eyes gleaming. “Are you a highlander?”

“A daughter doesn’t rest while her mother’s killer walks the earth,” Keris repeats, the words as hollow as her stomach suddenly feels. “But a clan-chief who doesn’t punish those who owe him allegiance owes the blood-price in their stead. If this is the same nation that killed her, if you’re still doing the same things, then even if you weren’t here when it happened...”

She bares her teeth. “I _don’t want to fight you_ , Ney. But if the ones who killed my mother are in your service and you’ve done nothing, I might not have a choice. And I swore to find my father, if he still lives - or his bones, if he doesn’t. I can’t go back on that oath.”

He blinks. Actual confusion shows on his face. “That law is for peacetime, not... it’s for things where one person kills someone from a different clan and refuses to pay the blood price. So the clan leader pays the silver or jade or cattle for the blood, and so stops it becoming a clan war. If you’re looking for a blood price, then that’s...”

Ney pauses. Takes a breath. “Can you please stop waving your sharp hair in my face, and we can talk about justice and things like that. Because... a blood price is the price paid to avoid bloodshed. It’s compensation.”

Keris glances at her hair, which is indeed still lashing angrily. She hooks an arm over it and forces it down, getting a few light welts for her trouble, and shifts to sit on it so that it doesn’t go for his throat again. “My mother’s ghost is angry and vengeful and she is not going to rest until her murderer has seen justice,” she says flatly. “I wasn’t raised in the highlands. I know only what I learned through blood and salt and milk as a babe, and what I’ve picked up from the tattered, torn up remnants of my family that I’ve come across in this... this _broken_ land. But I know that my mother’s death needs to be avenged, and if you’re...” she shakes her head, struggling for words through the pounding in her head as tears gather in the corner of her vision, “if you’re _still letting what happened to me go on_ , then you’re part of the vendetta. You’re linked to the ones who killed her. And I _don’t_ want to fight you, because you’re strong enough that you scare me and you’re funny and annoying and you weren’t there when it _happened_ or even an adult, but I _cannot_ let my mother stay unavenged. I _cannot_ let my father stay at the bottom of some mine or leave his bones to moulder in an unmarked grave. I _can’t_.”

((Poor Keris. Ney is looking at a young woman who’s angry and hurting and trying to do the right thing even though she’s not sure what it is and who’s probably made some choices even less wise than his in the course of her short, sad life.))

He winces. “A murderous ghost. That would do it,” he says softly. “La, la, why do I wind up in these kinds of messes? Story of my life. So, on one hand, we have you - urged on by a vindictive ghost, and one whose bestial soul became cruel and powerful so quickly, looking only for revenge and twisting our laws and customs to justify only bloodshed. And I know what I could do to Malra if I was so inclined, and I think you could do something like that. Or maybe more, because you know things about the spirits and the ancestors that I don’t and you’re a sorceress on top of that.”

His voice softens, until it’s barely more than a whisper. “How many would you kill for this? How many people who know nothing of what happened here would you leave dead, until the bloodthirsty vendetta is sated?”

((Per + Pres, 8 successes, invoking Keris’ Compassion to reduce her MDV))  
((Aaaaand rolling Compassion 4. And hah, Keris is really doing well on pseudo-Virtue rolls this session. _4_ successes on 4 dice.))

“No.”

Keris’s voice is half fierce, half tired. “That’s what she wanted.” She looks down. “Wants. But no. She can’t do that without my help, and I won’t give it. Not for that. Not to spread death and destruction to even more villages and towns; more people who never wanted anything to do with this stupid pointless drawn-out war.”

She swallows. “She won’t rest. She won’t go willingly, not to Lethe where she can forget all those years of pain and rage and hate, not while the ones who killed her still live. They’re just. Their lives are forfeit - they murdered her, and I’ll help her kill them even if it means going through you. But I think...”

A tear trickles down from her eyes, following the line of the scar on her jaw. “Sh-she doesn’t... care about me like she should. Did. Not like I do about my babies. Death ha-has robbed her of most of the, the good times. But she d-does still care. Once she’s got vengeance for her death, once her murder is avenged against those who beat her half to death and hung her from a tree and wouldn’t even let her husband cut her down... once they’re dead, I can satisfy her with that. With them, and no more. Once I’ve done my duty as a daughter, I’ll get her...” Another pause, this one a little longer, to force down a sob that’s threatening to rise. “I’ll get her to pass on. One way or another.”

And then Keris looks up, eyes fierce. “But you _won’t_ get in my way. You won’t try to shield them, you won’t try to stop me. I’ll take her and her bones and the m-monster her other half became, and if my father’s alive I’ll take him too, and even though I _hate_ that you’re _buying people_ like I was bought, I won’t start a fight over it with something like you in a country that isn’t mine anymore. Because I might have been born in this land, and I might have highlander blood, but your- but the _slavers_ took both of those things away from me when they took away my parents and sent me off to Nexus as a child. I’ll honour what I lost, and I’ll reclaim what I can, but I won’t fight to stay here. Not when there’s nothing to stay for.”

((Amusingly, while he’s basically sure of it, she hasn’t actually confirmed that she’s a sorceress, lol.))  
((She keeps getting distracted by 4-dot principles instead of answering either way.))

He wipes his eyes. “That was hard to hear,” he says, the smile gone. “But I think you underestimate me. I told you earlier that I wouldn’t stand in the way of a daughter looking for the man who killed her parent. You might have our blood - but no, I don’t think you understand our ways deep down.”

Ney fiddles with the tassles on a cushion. “This stupid war - and you’re right, it’s stupid - wouldn’t have happened in Harbourhead. If the lords had wanted the shah’s throne, they’d have declared war on him openly, not murdered him in the night. No leader could hold the throne after that. We _expect_ to fight every summer, whether it’s scrapping over whose goats are eating whose crops, or a small clan war over fields, or some great battle down from the rich lords on the coast. And when Ahlat is pleased, one side triumphs and the other pays their blood price and it is over. But these Tairans nurse last year’s grudges like wine.

“But part of how we can say ‘this war is over’ is that we have ways to handle things that should not be part of a war. Like, say, take the shahbanu. She wants to kill the southern lords for their part in the murder of her family! That is good! It will banish bad spirits and teach people to fight properly in the hills and in the plains, which is where the great wars should be fought. But she doesn’t just want the justice of revenge - she wants to crush the land, to rule it. So she is not a good king for her clan.” He gestures. “You see? If she just wanted to kill those who killed her family, in Harbourhead it would happen. And people would help her because everyone knows that last year’s ghosts are bad news. Ghosts should leave the world after Callibration, else they turn sour. 

“So if you were looking for a proper highlander’s revenge, the revenge of a daughter against the ones who personally killed - or gave word for - the death of her mother... then I would help you in some way. Because these ways are how the world is kept working and how bad spirits do not linger.”

Keris sniffs, but her shoulders slump in relief, and her hair relaxes for the first time since her vision bled red at his words. “I can’t let you near her,” she tells him. “Or let her near you. That would end in blood, on one side or the other, and me in the middle wanting none of it. But if you’ll offer your help in setting me on the trail and finding the right men, I’ll take it and thank you.”

He also seems to relax. “I don’t like those who make their livings buying and selling slaves at the best of times,” he says. “Taking slaves in battle - that’s one thing. That’s the triumph of one clan over another, and I’d rather be taken as a slave than killed. There’s no glory in a miserable death. But the buyers and sellers benefit from the battle victories of others, lurking around battlefields.” He looks solidly at Keris. “They could do with a little fear put in them. It keeps them thin and nervous.”

She grins, jagged and vicious and utterly without humour. “Fear I can do,” she says through sharpened teeth. “Fear I can definitely do.”

He sighs morosely. “You know, you rather ruined the whole evening by just putting it out there like that,” he says. “I had this whole plan for carefully teasing your secret out of you. I was going to carefully use your fascination with the Birds to lure bits out, and then we’d have had a passionate affair lasting a night, then you’d probably have drugged me and left except I would have been faking it and I’d have appeared in front of you sitting on a tree and we’d have had an argument where I seemed to blurt something out I shouldn’t have, but the way you leapt on it would have revealed more.” He pauses, perhaps for breath. “There’s more in the list, too,” he adds. “But it’s all ruined.”

Keris pauses, considering that. “... how did you know I was planning to drug you?” she asks, out of interest. “And since that’s ruined, can I steal your mask as a trophy anyway?”

“I didn’t,” Ney says with a grin, “not until you just confirmed it. And... well, I mean we could still try it. We could give it a go. I’m sure you’ve got more secrets, so I could try prying into them and the Birds would probably still be a good place for a romantic late night walk that would get you so consumed with passion we’d make fiery love then and there, possibly in the cockpit of one of them. And then you’d try to steal it, but I’d wake up just in time and thwart you after a round of unclad wrestling. That sounds entertaining.”

Cocking her head with a hum and a wan smile, Keris looks at this... this _annoying_ , ridiculous, frustrating and... and strangely _kind_ man who she’s only known a day. Her heart still hurts - from their fight and the rage and the grief and the pain - and she’s not sure she’s in the mood for sex tonight. But... on the other hand, she doesn’t want to leave, either. Leaving would mean going back out into the cold forest and a bag of stolen equipment and a tiny little barge that holds almost everything she loves within a thousand miles, as well as the things most able to hurt and sadden her. Leaving would mean going back to a mother who she loves, and who she grieves, and who - despite the pain it causes her - she has to half-consider as an antagonist to her goals.

Ney is many things, and not one of them is completely trustworthy. But if nothing else, he’s fun. And as much as he irritates her, he makes her feel things that aren’t sad or angry or hateful or numb, which have been in short supply from people not related to her since she came to Taira.

“Let’s start with the walk,” she decides, “and see where it goes from there.”


	5. Chapter 5

The sun is rising over the landscape of the Malran plateau. It’s bright and clear and chilly this morning, though there’s a hint that the weather is going to worsen later on. The river is winding its way through the rolling hills of the landscape. There are occasional small villages by the banks, but much of this land is untamed. Wild horses with brown and white spotted coats run across the foothills.

A shape blurs underwater, coming up behind the paddlewheel barge that’s slowly making its way upriver. No one onboard sees it coming.

With a fish-like flip through the air, Keris vaults out of the river and lands on deck in a crouched. Water runs in rivulets off her drenched clothing and sodden hair.

She’s grinning.

Xasan jolts awake with a curse, his early-morning fishing interupted by his niece appearing out of nowhere. His hat nearly goes into the river, but Keris snatches it up with her hair and puts it back on his head.

“So it went well?” he asks, once he’s got his breath back. “You fooled the sun-chosen?”

“Fooling happened,” she confirms with a nod. “And I also got to lead him a merry chase around town. How were things on your end? I took out a hide that had some sun-soldiers spying on the river, but- actually never mind, I’ll just inhale the other me and remember it that way.”

He rubs his noses. “Very quiet,” he says, then shifts slightly. “Well, uh, for me. From what I... I gather, Rathan had to spend some time placating Maryam.” His voice cracks slightly. “Knowing her... knowing her, she doesn’t like being cramped up in the hold for too long.”

Keris’s grin falters a little. “How are you doing?” she asks, moving closer and resting a dripping hand on his arm. “With... everything. Finding out about what happened, and also being around her like this.”

He’s silent for a while, casting out his line again. It bobs up and down in the water. “There was still a part of me that... that hoped she was alive,” he says softly. “I swore I’d find her and get her revenge, either way. But I’d wanted to show up as a hero, saving her from... from some old mines, or something. Not to find she was probably dead before I’d even heard the news all those years ago.”

He sighs. “I’m glad Ali’s not here.”

“Me too,” says Keris glumly. “On both counts. He wouldn’t handle this well - and I don’t think I’ll tell him all of it. And I wa- I wanted...”

She stops short, and takes a breath.

“Papa might still be alive, though,” she says firmly, only a faint quaver betraying her attempt at certainty. “And I have a solid lead on who killed mama now, so I can track all of them down - the ones who did it and the ones who gave the order, name by name. I can give her revenge on them all, and then we can give her a proper funeral pyre. A glorious one, fit for a clan-chief.”

“Mmm.” He sighs. “Well, when everyone’s up, you can tell us how it went. From the fact that you’re being very calm about everything, it went well?”

“There were a few tense bits,” Keris shrugs. “And he’s still _annoyingly clever_ , so he worked a few things out. But,” she grins again, wicked and smug, “I’m good at fooling clever people. So I made it work for me. It might not be the last I see of him, but I can handle him if he shows up again. I’ll go over the whole thing when everyone’s awake; there’s no point in telling it twice.”

There’s more space on this barge so there are more rooms, and the noise is different. Rather than the constant noise of the wind and the hiss of the flame that there was on this airship, instead there’s the low rumble of the paddlewheel.

Moving slightly stiffly, Keris enters the ship itself - which isn’t disguised unlike the exterior, so it’s like walking into a forest - and finds herself ambushed by a Calesco. Or possibly a Kuha. No, it’s a Calesco, even though the sun’s up.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Calesco says, voice choked with tears as she wraps Keris up in a hug. “I don’t know why, but I’m really proud of you. What did you do? Why do I feel like this?”

Never one to turn down an embrace from her youngest daughter, Keris hugs back, wrapping her up and enjoying the rare feeling of Calesco being happy with her. “... I made a decision,” she answers. “I guess it was one you liked, huh? Come on, I’ll tell you about it with everyone else. Where are my other me and the twins?”

Keris rounds people up, making sure to give her babies all the cuddles after picking them up from where they were sleeping next to an exhausted-looking Gale her. Ogin looks slightly confused about how there are two mamas, but he’s being cuddled so he just closes his silver eyes and goes back to sleep, wrapping his tails around Keris’ arm.

Oula’s in with Rathan again, Keris hears before she even enters. She smiles faintly. They’re so cute together. She eases her way in, and makes the unwanted discovery that their relationship has advanced considerably while she was away.

((Physique + Subterfuge to see if she can stifle the reaction that might wake either of them up - otherwise, she can just forgo the roll if she forgets to try. :p))

“GAH!” she yelps, the wet mass of her hair flaring out in distress and smacking into all three walls beside and behind her with a sodden _thud_ that makes the wooden partitions shudder. She spins around, cheeks burning bright red, and tries to scrub her brain of the memory. Maybe Eko can help her breathe it out and let go of it. That would be nice.

There’s a thud behind her, which is clearly Oula falling out of bed at the noise. That produces a yelp of pain from Rathan, because the hair she was wrapped up in and which served at the only thing protecting her modesty gets pulled. He sits bolt upright, whacks his horns into one of the low beams above the bed, and collapses back, groaning.

The door bangs open, hitting Keris in the face, as Calesco comes running, two knives in her hair and another one in each hand. “What just happened?” she demands, looking over Keris’ shoulder for a threat. “Who’s hurt?”

“No, no, no, no, no,” Keris repeats like a mantra and grabs her daughter by the shoulders, spinning her around. “We are leaving the room, and in no more than three or four minutes Rathan and Oula will come out of the room, and they will be dressed, and I will not have walked in on this, and it will not be spoken of again.” She marches out of the room and hesitates for a moment at the threshold. “If either of you want advice then we can talk about it later, as long as I hear no specifics at all,” she throws over her shoulder. “Now, up.”

Keris firmly shuts the door, and then gently knocks her head against a wall. “Aaaargh,” she mumbles. “I did not need or want to see my _son_ in... nrrrgggh.”

Calesco is blushing just as pinkly behind her veil. “Um,” she says. “Well... I suppose it, uh, it was going to happen. Especially given how he made Oula to be. It’s not her fault she wants it so badly,” she adds hotly. “It’s disgusting she’s made to love him.”

“I think she’s only like that because he’s the same way,” Keris points out, jumping on the opportunity for even a minimal change in topic. “And it’s not like she’s meekly obeying his every word. She’s got plenty of say in what they are to each other, and she’s the one who’s been pushing him to do more cuddling and... actually never mind.” She clears her throat and tries to force the blood away from her burning cheeks. “Let’s, ah, let’s just go wait for them in the other room.”

Half an hour later, everyone alive on the ship is gathered in the galley, having honey-sweetened porridge for breakfast. Kerisa is also technically here, but she’s asleep, and Keris’ mother isn’t in the room. 

Oula and Rathan are sitting quite far away from Keris for some reason. They’re still cuddling. Rathan is grinning foolishly, while Oula has a very smug look on her face.

“So,” Calesco says, clearing her throat. “Mama. What happened?”

((Okay, your stunt here is going to basically be the flashback for each thing. So, the first action is on the walk.))

“Well, we had a meal, which lasted a while and involved an argument and nearly some violence but calmed down without anybody getting stabbed,” Keris explains. “But I was trying to keep him tied up for as long as possible to give you a nice window of movement. So I demanded he show me some art that met my standards, and we went for a walk to look at the Dragon King plants that are scattered all through the town and those flying artificial bird things that Oula spotted...”

Keris keeps on talking, but she isn’t really telling the truth. She brushes over things, inaccurately summarises others, just plain lies occasionally.

She and Ney had walked up onto the walls, looking out over the moon-tinted landscape. It had been so bright in the town, with its crystal lighting that didn’t waver or flicker. Even Nexus hadn’t had that. He’d had his arm around her, and to outside onlookers they might have even looked like a courting couple. And he’d been warm and reassuring and for all that he was clearly attracted to her, he’d kept his hands to himself. And he’d made her laugh.

She’d made a game of it, of course. Each new beautiful thing he’d shown her - the crystal lights, the gorgeous stonework, the occasional bared tattoo... even the Birds themselves - she’d expressed her appreciation and then wickedly found reasons it didn’t meet her standards, demanding he take her to something nicer still. Every time she'd sniffed and made another criticism, he’d clutched his heart or swooned melodramatically, and she’d had to fight to keep her expression dismissive instead of grinning at his play-acting. It had been fun.

The moon above them had been full and bright - enough that they didn't even need the crystal lighting - and it had glinted off the silver ornaments in her hair. “So where did you learn about your art?” he'd asked, daringly stroking one of her stray locks that had trailed onto his shoulder. “I’ve hardly met anyone who loves craftsmanship and beauty like you. The naib, of course - but very few others.”

Keris had grabbed his fingers in a subtle curl of hair for that, and refused to let go. “Well I always liked pretty things on the streets,” she remembered laughing. “And I got sat down and taught music not long after leaving them - music and manners and a few other things too. Then one day I had lots of pretty silver and a few hours to kill - well, it wasn’t my silver, I was watching it for a friend, and no,” she’d smacked him lightly on the shoulder at his raised eyebrow, “I didn’t steal it from them, hush! But I started playing around and making a mural out of it on the floor. And it turned out I had a lot of talent at it - it wound up lifelike enough that they startled when they came down to look. So I got into silversmithing, and then learnt a bit about the cultural art of the region I was in, and I got a handy tool for weaving that seemed like a waste not to use. I’d already looked up to... to a patron like your naib, let’s say; one who _adores_ beauty and would make the whole world gorgeous and pleasing to the senses if they could - so when I caught their attention properly I got a lot of support from them.”

She’d tipped her head back and sighed happily, looking up at the moon. “I just drifted further and further into the arts,” she’d summarised. “I love it when things are beautiful. There’s nothing violent or sad or horrible about a painting or a pretty gown. Sometimes the ways people get the materials are horrible, if they’re jewels or gold or silver or things like that, but taking a blank canvas and some paints or a pile of thread and dye or a lump of metal and a forge and creating something that makes people happy when they look at it... that’s just wonderful, to me. And I can do it.”

He’d chuckled. “I’d be jealous if art didn’t sound like so much hard work. I’ve got two left hands there. I can just about draw stick figures in charcoal. And even then I sometimes pick up charcoal that’s still hot and burn my fingers. It’s such a tragedy. The spirits hate me,” he'd said, with maudlin self-pity. That had made Keris laugh - and take the opportunity to tease him.

“Oh, I’m sure singing them a perfect praise-hymn would make them forgive you for your wrongdoings,” she’d said, all big eyes and clasped hands and hopeful, innocent sincerity in her sugar-sweet voice. She’d held it for five hilarious seconds before letting an impish grin crack it. “Oh wait.”

“I can’t sing,” he’d said with a sniffle.

“There there,” she’d soothed, patting his cheek. “I’m sure I can draw some pretty sounds out of you anyway, one way or another.”

That had marked a notable warming up of the conversation, and by the time they’d finished the lap of the city - and gotten through a tipsy rooftop chase - minds were moving in a very certain direction. One, Keris realises with a cringe, that Rathan and Oula had also been moving in. Was this her fault? No, no, that was silly. Oula had been working in that direction for weeks.

They’d gotten back to his house, and he’d shown her the ‘art’ that turned out to be his bed.

“Ta da!” he’d announced. “The most comfortable bed in the city! Since I like sleeping, I made sure of it!”

“Ah, but we’ve already established that we can’t trust each other,” she’d shot back, grinning challengingly. “How can I take your word for it unless I try some of the other beds? I might be opening myself up to your devious tricks and deceptions, all cunningly made to snare an innocent young beauty like myself!” She’d fluttered her eyelashes and put on an expression of fake horror, a hand going to her mouth. “Who knows what sort of terrible things you might have in mind?”

He’d come up with a well-reasoned explanation for why his bed was the only safe one in the town, which she'd countered by pointing out that a hero such as himself should really be saving all of the innocent townsfolk if that was the case, and he'd counter-countered by assuring her that the fae servants of the chaos princess were only interested in finding the beautiful maiden he'd turned down their slain mistress for and thus Keris needed to sleep in his bed where he could guard her.

Things had gone on like that for about as long as either of them could bear. Then the clothes started coming off.

((So, mechanically, is she trying for anything or is she basically just letting it happen?))  
((So yes, she’ll basically be aiming to a) blow his mind and b) get him distracted enough that she can tie him to the bedposts and gloat, or possibly steal his half-mask and run off with it after they’re finished. And she’ll be putting quite a lot of effort in because of “a”, and while she’ll probably try to stay human-normal, she’s... sigh, a little too accustomed to using her hair and her prehensile tongue and her lack of any need to breathe.  
... and goddammit Keris, she doesn’t know about the downside of Sinuous Sinful Pinions, so she’ll be using that, and given the touch-doubling effect she may slip slightly on the “mouths where mouths should not be” front in, uh, the heat of the moment, as it were. And probably not even notice.))  
((So, yeah, contested Physique + Expression. Well, not technically contested. They’re more making attacks against each other’s MDVs, and she’s using Phys + Expression while he’s using Athletics for that sexy bod))  
((5+5+3 Cerulean Paramour+2 stunt+10 Metagaos ExD {ensnaring in traps, self-indulgent demands, never satisfied, fertile decadence...}=25, and if this counts as an “inappropriate liason” then she’s at -1 Diff from Cerulean Paramour. Sigh. Keris is alarmingly well-built for this. 15 sux, lol.))  
((Meanwhile, he’s just throwing a raw 10 +3 + 10 ExD at her, for 23 dice... 10 successes, and he’s trying to coax her to going to Level 1 anima without realising it. So, uh, they both blow right through each other’s MDVs. Is Keris going to resist the Compulsion?))  
((Hmm.))  
((Well, technically the Compulsion is to ‘at least Level 1’. You can go higher if you want to be dramatic. :p))  
((My instinct as a player is not to, and Keris is very wary of letting information out... but there’s valid ground with a compulsion and, sigh, she’d be getting so into having a good time that she’d flare her caste mark without thinking, just like she does with Sasi. On the other hand, while spending wp to resist would tire her and make it a little less enjoyable, realising she’d _gone_ to level 1 flare would probably scare her, and I like the easygoing back-and-forth they’ve got going where he’s not _quite_ sure what she is. On the other hair tendril, if he knows she might be something solary, she can give him that warning...))  
((... I’m just gonna flip for it, I like both routes.))  
((Heads. Which is where the caste mark is, so that presumably means that yup, she flares. At least she’ll probably realise in the middle of a gloating-high having out-sexed him and tied him to the bedposts.))  
((Sigh, overwhelmed when she comes.))  
((And still get to be smug that he flared first.))  
((She’s totally going to make a “stamina” jibe.))

This is _definitely_ something she’s not talking to two of her children about, so she just skips over the entire sequence with them. She doesn’t mention a thing. Not a thing...

... about how she’d tried using her new po-granted sense of touch and in bed it’d been all too _much_. And it’d been longer for her than she’d liked, and he was all tight muscle and sensitive fingers, while she’d been trying to hold back and not give away all her tricks - but she might have slipped up a bit. But it hadn’t all gone his way, oh no. She'd had him squirming and gasping her name very soon, even as she tried to ignore how _good_ he felt against her and inside her.

And then maybe, yes, as his eyes rolled back and his golden ring had flared on his forehead, she’d had her hair tie him to the bed, and then really put some effort into riding him all the way to her own screaming pleasure.

“Uh,” Calesco says, frowning, “you just trailed off, mama. And you’re biting your lip. What happened?”

“Nothing!” Keris insists.

Because when she’d re-opened her eyes and sagged down on him, she’d realised that the room wasn’t just lit in gold. It was also lit in green. Her own empty circle was burning hellish green on her brow. And maybe he hadn’t...

... he’d looked up at her with barely focussed, bleary eyes. “Hot,” he’d said. “Never seen a girl with one of those before. It’s cute.”

“I just,” she tells her children, “came... uh... pretty close to a mistake when I slipped away from him. He’s tricksy, for all that he’s kind of lazy and oddly charming when he puts the effort in. But I left him in a clever trap he would have taken a while to get out of, and made off with a few trophies.”

It’s only a bit of an exaggeration. What she’d actually done was to squeak in alarm, hands flying to her forehead in vain to try and cover the brand, and darted off the bed to gather her things and escape.

The darting had gone well. The bit where she’d stopped to throw some of her clothes back on had not, because her knees had still been weak and without the endless cyclic stamina of motion supporting them they’d folded under her and she’d gone sprawling over a dressing table.

He’d done his strange vanishing movement to try to catch up with her - only he was just as jelly-legged as she was, and he’d sort of sagged and collapsed onto her rather than cooly appearing right behind her.

((the moral of this story is that flash steps are not recommended post-coital activities))

“Hey, what’s... what’s the rush?” he'd panted from on top of her. “I... I wasn’t... I wasn’t that bad, was I?” His attempts to pull himself upright had just got their legs and arms more tangled. “Why’s your one green?” he’d asked, face-first in her chest.

“I-it’s not green!” had been the first lie that Keris had been able to come up with, which had sat in the air awkwardly for a few moments as both of them considered its believability. In retrospect, Keris thinks, if she’d avoided that particular dumb reflex, she might have been able to play it off as something like... oh, Wood elemental heritage or something. Ney’s not an occultist like her. He might have bought it.

... alright, probably not. He has that irritating lie-spotting skill, after all. Still, she could have avoided embarrassing herself quite so much.

“It’s awkward to talk about,” she’d tried to patch her blunder with. “I don’t like showing it to people.”

That hadn’t fared any better. “We’re... we’re probably over any awkwardness,” he'd said, still face-down in her chest. “I mean, you don’t need to breathe, your t-tongue is as nimble as a hand, and your eyes turn into cat eyes when you’re having fun. I think we’re over any little embarrassment about the colour of... of the brow-mark.” He’d looked up, and flashed a grin. “Shame feels a bit silly.”

She’d attempted a glare, which hadn’t worked very well. “It’s because of very complicated occulty things,” she’d said with as much haughty dignity as she’d been able to muster, which had been approximately none. “You wouldn’t understand.”

This had gone on for a while. He’d offered to hold off for a bit if they went back to bed, though - because at least if they were going to argue, they could do it somewhere comfortable. That much she’d been able to accept, after getting them untangled, and she’d made a concerted effort to wipe the entire episode from his memory in favour of more pleasurable things to reminisce about. Maybe she’d left him dazed enough he’d written the whole thing off as a hallucination, though personally she doubts it.

Because in the early hours of the morning, they’d been lying next to each other - sweaty, exhausted, aching... and yet full of a certain buzz that even Keris’ apprehension couldn’t put out of mind. And he'd brought it up again.

“So,” he’d said, stroking her with his calloused hands. He’d leaned in, to give her a daring kiss on the nose. “The Immaculates aren’t totally wrong, are they? Do you ever have memories of... of who you used to be?”

She’d shivered. “Do you?”

“I... I know I was afraid. I was afraid of there being servants of the demon lords everywhere. I remember ordering spies everywhere to watch for cults and the servants of the demons. And I remember dying to the Dragonblooded and my last thoughts were that they must have been serving Hell.” He'd paused. “But you... you were someone who took the power of the demons, weren’t you? And you still have it.”

Silence had reigned in the room for a few moments. Then Keris had rolled them over, lying on top of him and cuddling into his warmth.

“He was young,” she’d said. “Hah. ‘Young’, listen to me. He was an old man when he was reborn - sixty or more, old enough to have grandchildren if he’d married young - and he was more than two hundred when they all died. But in that era, he was almost a baby. He spent most of his time with Dragonblooded - and even with mortals. He had almost no say in the ruling of Creation, because the elders ruled and nobody who was less than a thousand could speak out against them.”

She’d buried her face into the crook of his neck, not wanting to look at him while she talked about such things - and craving the comfort, because the memories scared her. “Those... those ancient ones who’d seen their empire built up from the ground; they looked human at a glance. But their faces weren’t marked by age or blade or sickness. They’d watched generation after generation of mortals be born and grow and age and die, and they knew - you could tell, just from looking at them - they knew that none of those little people could ever hope to understand the things they spoke of; the brilliance they had, the terrible bright genius. I think they stopped thinking of them as people at all. Maybe they were heroes once, but lingering so long as their mortal friends aged and died... they just stopped caring about mortals at all so it didn’t hurt.” She’d shuddered. “And by the time they got that old they were so powerful nobody could argue. The younger sun-children, like my past life; they were powerless despite all their power.”

She’d thought about Arumoh, using her own children as bait to kill her husband. She’d thought about the scars left on mountains, about the nightmarish monster that had once been Rosseah and the tomb that the Dragonblooded had been forced to build to cage it. She’d thought about this story Ney had come up with; so close in some aspects and yet so wrong in others, and which she could so easily play along with. She hadn’t even had to lie.

“The ones who rose up against those ancient monsters,” she’d murmured. “They weren’t wise. They risked everything. They did things to win that shouldn’t have been done, and they broke...” Yamal’s letter had sprung to mind, talking about a missing part of the very stars. “Broke Creation itself, I think, in doing it. And they killed... they killed people who didn’t need to be killed; they tore down the good along with the bad and damned it all. But Ney, I remember so much more of that time. And the other way was worse. Trust me on that, if nothing else. _The other way was worse_.”

((Okay, Per + Pres))  
((4+5+1 Firebrand Demagouge+2 stunt+9 Adorjani ExD {it is in her nature to hurt everything she touches, enlighten her enemies, depredations inspire heroes, create ongoing discomfort or take away sources of comfort}=21.  
... holy shit, 21 successes. _21 successes on 21 dice_. [ **10 10 10** 9 9 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 8 7 7 7 6 5 2]  
And if he uses JET, he will find that she is speaking _horrible, awful truth_ about basically everything there. I’m not even sure it would trigger as a half-truth or a lie of omission, since he’s the one who came up with the slightly incorrect view of things.))  
((Yeah, he uses JET and... uh, I think that’s deserving of a 3-dot stunt btw))  
((He also uses SROI, and finds Keris’ intent is absolutely genuine and his defence does _nothing_.))  
((ouch))  
((SROI is a well-designed social perfect, honestly.))

Ney had choked. “You’re telling the truth,” he says, pulling back from her. “You’re telling the truth and you... you think the time before was a time of horrors.” There was anguish in his eyes. “You think I was one of those... those old monsters, an old paranoid who saw demons in every shadow - except the ones they were actually in.” A tear trickled down his face. “And... Ahlat help me, I think you might be right.” He'd sat up, arms hugging his long legs, brow resting on his bare knees. “Could this all be a... demonic trick?” he'd asked. She’s still not sure if it had been rhetorical.

Keris had touched his cheek gently, cradling his face. “I am not the man who died in Nexus on the blades of a star-child’s shadow fingers,” she’d soothed. “You are not the man who became as bad as the things he feared. I won’t follow the same route in this life as I did in the last, and you don’t have to either. Cling to mortality. Keep yourself anchored - to your stupid lies and jokes and silliness, to your wall of Harbourhead trophies, to your sun-blessed soldiers and the people of Malra. Don’t let them be something abstract and identityless. Make sure they’re people to you.” She’d hugged him, not wanting to see him so miserable. “I met Salina’s reincarnation - you probably recognise her name, if you were that old. She was an elder, but she wasn’t one of the monsters. She stayed close to the people of her land; made sure they had a say in how it was run, kept herself from drifting away. Because I think that’s what the ancient ones did. They let themselves drift from their anchors, and floated away over the decades and centuries, and lost their humanity completely; forgot they’d ever had it. But you don’t have to go the same way, now that you know.”

She’d sighed. “It was beautiful, too,” she’d admitted, tears trickling down her cheeks. “That’s what hurts so much about remembering. It was _so beautiful_ , Ney. The combined host of the sun’s children built that world to survive and reflect their glory, and it _shone_. It was as wondrous as it was terrible. Like what you’ve built here in Malra, with your pretty plants and your beautiful flying birds and hawks and everything, but...” she’d shaken her head. “As far beyond this as you are beyond your soldiers. Further. I can almost believe there was a time before they drifted too far away when it must have been nearly perfect.”

He’d ran his hands over his sweaty face, then clambered out of bed. “I... I have a proposition,” he said. He headed over to his desk, and pulling out a brush and inks, began to write. “I... I’ll find where your father was sold to, and who sold him. I can find the records. It’ll be faster for you. Rather than just following a trail, you can go straight there. While you wait for me to find the names, I’ll write a letter of introduction for you, to Malek Qaja - the Dragon of Wood who bred those plants you’re so interested in. If I introduce you, she’ll welcome you as a guest. If you wait in the comfort of her house, I’ll be able to find you more easily - and it’s in the centre of the plateau, so when you find it, you won’t have as far to go.” He sighed. “It’ll be faster and more reliable this way. Even if you can follow an ancient trail, he might have been moved all over - and it’s long enough ago that you’ll need the records to find the ones to finish your revenge. I’ll find what you need, and then come visit you again and... and we can talk more on the topic. At most it’ll take me a month, and it should be faster if I pull some favours and get some help.”

Keris had hesitated. “My mother won’t... she won’t like being still for that long,” she’d cautioned. “But... no, she likes the thought of revenge. And the proper ways. She’ll forgive a lot, for the thought of me doing my duty by her.” She’d stayed silent a little longer, torn by indecision. “Having her around a Dragonblood, though... and my babies, too, and...”

“There’s a reason I chose her,” he’d said. “Malek Qaja is... eccentric. I think honestly all she cares about is her research into the occult properties of plants. That, and her sorcery - the two aren’t very different. Her home is a manse she built herself, and she’s reclusive... and two hundred years old, or so I heard. Her daughter handles the family estate for her, giving her more time for her... well, it’s said she practices witchcraft and summons demons. Now, for most people, I’d tell them to keep away... but, well, you know things about demons men shouldn’t - and their blood flows through your veins.”

And that had more or less decided her. A quicker path to her father, a safe harbour for her children to rest like they’d been clamouring to _and_ a brilliant occultist to talk genesis-engineering and sorcery with? There’d been no way for her to say no, and she’d hugged him again as she’d accepted.

((Does she want to filch the mask or something, or has she accidentally derailed the tsun with too much truth and doesn’t want to annoy him because she wants him to listen? :p ))  
((Let’s face it, she probably filched the mask into the mass of her hair when she fell over the dressing table. But yes, she’s probably derailed the tsun enough that she won’t try anything serious.))  
((Okay, Physique + Subterfuge))  
((5+5+3 Light-Fingered Larcenist+2 stunt=15, using Theft As Release to give him a -4 external penalty, lawl. 10 sux.))  
((Sigh. That means he doesn’t notice it’s gone for a while - and may, hah. “experiences an Illusion effect convincing him that the item does not belong to him”. He may cheerfully go “yup, she won that fair and square”, depending on how valuable it is. And it also means that if he doesn’t replace it, then when the naib goes “... Ney. Where is your mask?” he can rattle off a ridiculous bullshit lies story that’s actually true for once.))  


She’d said her goodbyes, with his mask hidden in her hair, giving him a fairwell kiss. He’d wrapped his arms around her neck, lips lingering as he held her tight.

((He noticed it was missing, resists the Illusion via WP spend, and is using Flawless Pickpocketing Technique to steal it back.  
FPT guarantees success, and Keris is at -4 external penalty with any superhuman senses to catch him in the act. He got 12 successes on 15 dice for the theft.))  
((... curses.))  
((She has to beat his roll to even notice the theft from her hair.))  
((12 dice on her sensory roll; 3x2+4-4=6. Darn.))

And it was only when she was half-way back along the river, having picked up her stolen spears and clothing from the hideout, that she’d noticed he'd not only stolen his mask back, but he’d also filched some of her hair ornaments. Her sudden fuming had not been helped by Eko’s hysterical laughter in her head.

((Oooo, that little...))  
((Sigh. Such a tsundere love interest.))  
((She will definitely huff the next time they meet and insist that a gentleman would have let her take it.))

She doesn’t mention that bit to the listeners. Well, okay, she didn’t mean to. Actually, she rants a bit.

“So, are we going to that lady’s house?” Rathan asks eventually.

“Rrrgh. Yes,” Keris agrees, concluding her list of all the ways in which Ney Adami is an annoying lazy ungentlemanly good-for-nothing scoundrel with ill grace. “Like I said, he’s Harbourite, so once he worked out I was a daughter on a vengeance-quest it was fairly easy to talk him into helping find the ones responsible as a matter of clan honour. He’ll do the brunt of the work for us, and faster than we’d take following the trail ourselves to boot.”

Xasan is certainly pleased. “Good! At least there are some honourable men in this plateau! That was a stroke of luck!” He roars with laughter. “If you’re looking for a husband, Keris, set your sights on him!”

“If you don’t want him, can I have him?” Calesc... no, that’s definitely Kuha who asks that impishly.

“No!” Keris snaps, a little more fiercely than she meant to. All eyes turn to her, and she blushes. “Be-because he’s completely aggravating and tells ridiculous lies about things and has no manners!” she covers hastily. “He’s not good enough for you, and he’d only drive you to frustration.”

Rathan fetches some maps, and starts checking the routes. “My best guess it’s maybe a week to the closest river point to the place, based on his letter,” he says. “Then two or three days overland - but we can make that go faster. Good enough. You should get some rest, mama - you look tired and the beds here are good. We’ll call you if anything happens.” He’s rubbing Oula’s back, and she giggles.

That’s a good idea. Keris got no sleep at all, and that soul ignition he coaxed out of her was both embarrassing and also exhausting. Yes, a lie-down would be good. Maybe with her babies so they don’t start thinking fake-her is their real mama. Keris calls her Gale copy over, and takes the babies back.

“You look like you had more fun than me,” the Gale says, yawning. “Kali was up most of the night. I think she has wind and it’s not comfortable for her. She finally got to sleep just before dawn. And Ogin was grumpy and didn’t want to feed. I think I want to go back in your head now, so I can see what made you so cheerful.”

“Oh, we’re gonna enjoy remembering it all over again,” Keris gloats. “Come on then.” She wraps a hair-tendril round the other-her’s waist and inhales, drawing the externalised self back in and reintegrating the memories. Yes, Keris feels as the memories sink in, the Gale spent the night trying to stop Kali crying and desperately trying to get Ogin to nurse. It’s... notable how much she relies on her full talent for child management. When she’s merely human as a Gale, her babies are much worse behaved.

((Excellencies are amazing for handling babies, lol))

Lying down on the warm bed that her Gale had previously been sleeping on, Keris lets the warmth of the little bodies sink into her. She’s warm. She’s happy - much happier, really. She needed that, and... and there’s something nice about having someone to bicker with. She hates arguing with Sasi, but she _liked_ that a lot.

Dulmea contributes her thoughts, just as Keris is at the edge of sleep. “You like him,” she says. “I... I think you handled that about as well as you could, once you accidentally flashed him your caste mark, but I don’t think we want to mention this to the Unquestionable. At all.” She sighs. “And you like having a quick-witted man around who stands up to you, makes you laugh, and who you can pretend to not like.”

“‘parently so,” Keris thinks warmly. “Learnt something new about myself, I guess.” She yawns, burrowing her head into the pillow. “Can’t argue w’Sasi like that,” she adds blearily. “N’Rat never pissed me off the same way. S’nice bein’ able t’be mad at someone without it turnin’ into stabbing.”

“You never argued with Rat,” Dulmea says. She says, right? Because her voice rises slightly at the end, like it’s a question.

“Mmm,” Keris murmurs sleepily, her heavy eyelids fluttering shut. The memories hurt less when she’s tucked up and warm like this. “Always got along w’him. Didn’t fight each other. Too much else t’fight. Till the end.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Dulmea says, and she sounds sad for some reason.

But Keris isn’t listening, and she dozes off to warm, contented, sated sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

The paddleboat crawls its way up the river, raising its sails when the wind happens to favour them. The weather up here on the plateau is far warmer and calmer than the snowy mountains that lead up to it. There’s something about that which doesn’t feel right to Keris - but then again, she’s not much of a sailor and her souls... uh, only have the geography of her soul to reference and Rathan just says it’s like going from the Spires to the Ruin.

Either way, there’s about a free week before they’re going to reach the point he found on the map, so Keris and everyone else have some time to relax.

((What are you using the time to do? Also, as long as it’s not too big in scale, if you spend all your time on it you might be able to fit in a small Minor Strategic Action))  
((Keris is learning Hidden Family Secrets for 8xp, purchasing Whispers from the Deep and Ways of the Water. She’s also making a living sapling-painting for Malek Qaja in the hopes that it will be pleasing to her plant-obsession and doing her best to impress some language skills into her babies.))

She spends a lot of time with the children - specifically with her baby twins, trying to coax them from babbling and gurgles into coherent words. That’s... well, it’s an ongoing project, not helped by the fact that they’re sort of being taught a mishmash of Riverspeak, Old Realm and Firetongue. At least it helps give an excuse for bonding time with Calesco’s girls, who are fairly accepting of the twins as long as they’re wrapped up and who can’t resist cooing a bit at a chubby-cheeked Ogin or a stubborn-faced Kali trying to form mouths and tongues around simple words like “food” or “tired” or “want hugs, mama”. It gives Keris a chance to sneak in some lessons for them, as well - and to charm them over to her side as well.

When her adorable babies are asleep, Keris spends her time on a new art piece. It’s not a painting - rather, she’s taken a living sapling and potted it, and is slowly reshaping it; first forming a wide angled plane at the top between the branches and then starting to mould a relief into the living wood. When it’s finished and stained with inks, it’ll be a living plant-painting; with a trunk as a stand and branches framing the “canvas” - itself part of the healthy tree. She decides on a depiction of the wild, whip-like trees of the northwest on one side, bleeding into the dense bamboo forests of the southeast on the other, with more central foliage between them - a cross-Creation journey in flora, both literally and figuratively. It should do nicely as a gift for her host.

The girls are a work in progress, Keris is forced to concede. They’re still wary and flighty, but just seeing her as a new mother around babies who are acting... well, like normal babies, even if they sometimes turn into chicks or have tails in place of legs, it does them good. The fact that Calesco actually does help out here too makes matters better.

Admittedly, it may be because Calesco is trying to keep away from the deliriously romantic Oula and Rathan, who are treating this as their honeymoon and sharing a bed every night and most days. Keris understands all too well. She is having to hear things she never wanted to hear. Or know. Like how they both like having their horns grabbed onto.

It was probably to get away from them that Calesco drags Keris off to a river town to get supplies - which they do need, since Keris is eating more than usual while nursing. This little town isn’t as fancy as the place by the border, but it’s still well-off, prosperous, healthy, has magical plants, and generally seems to be a very nice place to live. Saffron is very cheap here and so is rice. Of course, there’s also a very prominent and new Illuminationist temple in the centre of town, with a gold-coated dome. 

But then again, Calesco also has her own reasons for wanting to get Keris alone.

“So, the moon’s waning,” she says, as they sit by the quayside, waiting for a merchant to get back from checking his stocks. “It’s nearly my birthday.”

“Yes,” Keris says, skipping a stone across the water with a series of plops. Her hand finds Calesco’s and squeezes it fondly. “I’ve been thinking about presents. Are there any you want to ask for? Your first birthday is a big one.” She pauses. “Also... well, you go first. But I have something to tell you.”

Calesco sighs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I’m not Haneyl. She’d have a list of hundreds of things she wants.” She perks up slightly. “Maybe a really good bow. One that can handle my full draw weight when I use my hair as well and anchor myself.”

“Yeah?” Keris considers. “I think I can do that. If I can find... hmm. We’d need some magical wood. And I might need some vitriol to harden it even more - actually, how strong _is_ your full draw weight? We should test that.” She taps her lips with a hair tendril reflectively. “Lemme rig something up tonight and we can put a range to it.”

She falls silent for a moment, running through things in her head as she pieces together a set-up that should let them test how much weight Calesco can pull without breaking anything. She was strong enough to hold Keris back when Maryam was in her, so she could probably bend iron bars. “I could design a cult for you too, if you wanted. A goddess-identity, all about compassion and honesty and being kind to others, that we could spread around places to make the worshippers a little better as people.”

Calesco frowns. “I don’t...” she falls silent. “I don’t want to be a goddess. They’re awful. And... and I’d like it. I know it’d be good. But... can you trust me with that power? I don’t know if you can. What if I liked being worshipped too much? I’d be helping them because I wanted to be worshipped, not because it’s what I should be doing...”

“Remember the Gullites?” Keris says gently. “Darling Yellow’s people? I’m a goddess to them, and I got them away from the Shore Lands and onto an island home where they’re safe. I’ll take you back there to check on them when we get back to the Southwest, and introduce you as one of Riyaah MuHiitiyah’s handmaidens, and you can use that as a test to see if you can deal with being a goddess to a people.” She reaches up and strokes her daughter’s hair gently. “I think you’d be good at it, for what it’s worth. You won’t want prayer and power like most gods do, you’ll want your worshippers to be better to each other. Won’t you?”

Calesco clenches her jaw. “They need someone to look after them,” she agrees. “And you keep on getting distracted. And not helping them. You haven’t checked up on Darling Yellow in _ages_.”

“I’ve been on the other side of Creation!” Keris protests; genuinely a little hurt. She adores Darling Yellow. The old woman put her faith in Keris, and the look of joy on her face when she’d seen the Isle of Gulls awaiting her people had been heart-warming. “I checked on them right before heading back to Malfeas - and I’m going to go back as soon as I get back to the southwest! And I left stomach bottle bugs there in case anyone gets hurt, and sziromkeruby to keep an eye on them. They’re fine. _She’s_ fine.” She smiles fondly. “She’s a tough old lady. It’ll be good to see her again once we find papa and leave Taira behind. And that won’t be much more than another couple of weeks.”

“Until you find another distraction,” Calesco grumbles. She looks over at the temple. “I don’t like this place,” she says softly, switching to Firetongue. “I don’t like those Illuminationists. They think brightness and gold are good things. And I don’t like that this whole place that they seem to control is so happy and healthy because that means they’d claim all the bad things they do make things better. You realise that the sun-chosen here are probably spreading the Illuminationist thing? So they can be worshipped.” She jabs a finger at Keris. “That’s what cults do to people.”

“That’s what people do to people,” Keris corrects her, sadly. “Cults are just a tool. But they can be used for good too. If you don’t want one, that’s fine - but I think you’d be a better kind of goddess.”

She leans over and kisses Calesco’s forehead, then swallows her voice. Calesco notices - perhaps she’s spent enough time around Eko that she can sense the sudden muteness - and Keris gives her a quirked smile and a little shrug.

There are some things she left out of what she told everyone about her talk with Ney, she conveys with a sly tap to her nose and a wink. A lock of hair forms a noose around her neck and Ascending Air flickers into her hand for a second as she explains how he’d worked out about Maryam’s presence on their quest; a vengeful ghost driving her daughter to vengeance - and a shake of her kris recounts his demand to know how many she would kill to sate the bloodlust of a murder victim; how many innocents she would slaughter, how many towns she would burn.

Keris wobbles a hand in the air for a moment, and then ducks her head wearily and pulls Calesco into a hug. She’d sworn not to, her embrace promises. She’d told him that she would take vengeance only on those who had killed her mother - the ones who hung her, and the ones who ordered it. That no others would be made scapegoats to an ever-expanding circle of blame, and that if the deaths of her killers didn’t sate her mother...

Her shoulders sag, and Ascending Air flickers into her hand again, a tear trickling down her cheek. If her mother was so bloodthirsty that vengeance and a proper funeral pyre didn’t sate her spirit, Keris wouldn’t let her hurt or kill innocents. She’d promised.

Calesco’s big eyes fill up with tears, and she impulsively gives Keris a hug. “I’m so sorry, mama,” she whispers to Keris. “I know... I don’t like your... I don’t like grandmother. I don’t like that she’s a ghost and I don’t like that she’s so vengeful. But I know you love her and I know this is costing you and... and I’m so, so proud of you.”

Keris sniffs a little, and hugs back, and feels slightly better for it after staying there for a while.

Eventually, Calesco disentangles herself. “You can handle getting the supplies, mama,” she says, walking away. “I’ll find a dark corner to change in and go around and ask some questions. I want to find out more about this woman we’re going to visit from what the people who might have heard about her say.”

((Okay, so Keris is bartering for supplies - food, meat, Rathan wants more fishing hooks, any interesting local things she sees. Diff 2, Per + Bureaucracy, -2 external penalty for having the wrong accent due to xenophobia from peasants.))  
((A penalty that’s neatly cancelled out by Price-of-Everything Undercurrents, which Keris will therefore use along with Hidden Depths Temptress. 4+0-2 external penalty+2 PoEU autosux x2 HDT=4. Lol, 1x2=2 sux.))

Keris gets a fair deal. She suspects she’s slightly overcharged, but she can afford it. Still, she doesn’t find anything particularly interesting. Interesting doesn’t matter much, though, when they’ll be having mutton for the next few days.

Calesco comes back after a while, slinking back onboard as a short, pimply man. She knocks loudly on Rathan’s door until he irritably comes out, then drags him to Keris. By the ear.

“What was that for?” he protests, rubbing his ear.

“You and mama both need to hear this,” Calesco retorts, “and you can’t spend all day in bed. So, I asked some things about her. They’ve heard of Malek Qaja here. She’s got a bad reputation. So, from what they say, she showed up around forty years ago and bought up land. A lot of land, really. And there are rumours of demons and elementals and other spirits around her - she started doing something big there, and kept doing it for a decade at least. There are places on her estate where she’s built giant walls of roses that no one can get past.”

Keris nods. “That fits with what Ney said when he gave me an introduction to her. She’s the one who worked on all the magical plants in this region - the ones that give light in the towns and get rid of their sewage and stuff. It sounds like she basically cares about her plants and nothing else, and Ney did say that she was a...” she hesitates and switches to Old Realm, “... a witch, and a demonologist, and a few other things - but that I was an occultist who knew things men shouldn’t anyway, so I wouldn’t be disturbed by going there. Honestly, I’m actually more comfortable with meeting her now that you’ve confirmed that outside of just him telling me. It means that if she catches wind of Kali or Ogin or the fact that you two are something like demon lords, she probably won’t care unless it directly impacts her plants. He _said_ she sold off all her old lands to pay for expeditions to try and get samples of them and understand how they worked, and then the naib basically dumped silver on her head until she figured it out. If she bought up a lot of lands forty years ago, I... guess that might fit with when he gave her funding, though I won’t trust that bit of what he said unless I get more confirmation.”

She frowns. “Hmm. If it is that way around, it means the naib’s been around for forty years - and might have been a sun-child for that long. I didn’t think there were any running around more than a decade ago.” Keris considers the likely power of a forty-year-Exalted and winces. “Okay, let’s add a bit more weight to the ‘avoid him’ side of the scales.”

Calesco shakes her head. “No, no, from what they seemed to say, she moved to this area back when the old naib was in charge. They said she’s some southern lady from around Pershwa, which is - to them - even more evidence she’s a witch. And apparently in the past few years, she’s been making lots of saffron. Huge amounts. People around here seem to tolerate her for that, because they don’t grow so much saffron normally up here on the plateau and she’s somehow made it cheap enough they can have it with every meal.”

That makes Keris’s eyes narrow. “Around Pershwa? Not that _is_ funny, because Ney said she wasn’t from anywhere in that neighbourhood, though she was southern. And he said she sold all her lands to fund her expeditions.” She scowls. “If I find out he’s been lying to me, I’m going to punch him right in his stupid smug face.”

“But... she’s old, and from the sound of it he was telling the truth about her mostly being a plant-occultist. If it comes to a fight, I’m a lot more confident about taking her than taking Ney. And I _would_ like to talk to her. She’s been studying occult plants for decades, and those magical vines in the towns give steady light all through the night and deal with sewage so it doesn’t get into the drinking water or smell. And she’ll probably have some magical wood for your bow, too.”

Keris taps a hair tendril against her lip. “Okay, we’ll do it this way: Calesco will come in with me as an advance to introduce ourselves and give her that letter Ney wrote - you can disguise your essence and also fly away if there’s trouble. If things look safe enough, we’ll bring everyone else in and keep Kali and Ogin quiet and out of sight as much as possible.”

Rathan shrugs. “Maybe to your Ney, ‘Perswha’ is down south. I mean, he’s probably not been all over Creation like us.”

“He’s not _my_ Ney!” Keris protests immediately. “He’s a thief! And a spy! And an annoying, smug, lazy, ridiculous liar!”

“Or maybe they just think all witches are Pershwan,” Calesco counters over the top of Keris, taking the chance to contradict her brother. “And I suppose that’d work, mama. She sounds pretty reclusive, but maybe she doesn’t like the local peasants.” Calesco sniffs. “I certainly don’t.”

It’s several more days travel upriver until they get to the point on the map that’s the nearest river town to her. Indeed, it’s on her lands - and the stories of the things she’s exporting seem to be very much true. Ailya is full of new construction, and the docks are far more prominent here. This town has grown rich.

A few questions are enough to find out that her estate is a few days ride away, and after seeming to sail on Keris disposes of her plant-boat and her and her party head inland.

The thing that catches her attention as they head up are the fields of poppies. Bright yellow poppies. Keris has been taking samples of magical and possibly-magical plants for Haneyl as a sort of absent reflex as they’ve been travelling, and it’s not until she’s halfway past the second roadwarden that her brain catches up and points out what she knows about poppies. It’s a short list, and a discomforting one. She speeds up and settles down amidst the blooms, plucking one between two fingers and cramming it into her mouth.

((Keris it is kind of depressing that your best investigative tool is the same as your infant children’s first reflex to figure out what something is: cram it in your mouth.))

Huh. These poppies don’t... taste like poppies. They taste strangely bland and starchy, but there’s a core of not-quite-tasting-right saffron in it. It’s got a slightly burnt, acidic taste to Keris’ sensitive tastebuds, and slightly salty, like blood. Pondering that discovery - and plucking several of them - she wanders back down to the group. “I figured out how she’s making so much saffron so cheaply,” she says quietly to Rathan and Calesco. “She’s... fused it, I guess, with the poppies. They have little bits of saffron in the middle of the poppy; the thready bits that you make the spice from. But I’m guessing they grow like poppies, which are a lot less bitchy about when you harvest them.” She grins. “So I’m definitely passing that idea on to Haneyl as a money-maker.”

“It did taste a bit weird since you bought that stuff here,” Rathan says critically. “I think she could do better.”

“This lady or Haneyl?” Calesco drawls.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t _bring_ Haneyl,” Keris puts in. “Can you imagine how much she’d be demanding to meet this woman? When we get back and tell her about it she might demand we cross Creation again to introduce her.”

“She’d be insufferable,” Calesco says.

“So no change there,” Rathan adds.

They have to go slower than they would otherwise have gone with the limit of not being seen with demon ribbon horses, but it’s late in the month when they find themselves coming up on a rose bush with the dimensions and proportions more associated with stone walls. There’s no door in the rosebush - it just cuts straight across the road. There is, however, a narrow stone tower rising from the middle of it, and the gleam of a spyglass. 

“Who goes there?” shouts a woman down from the top.

Keris frowns. She sounds very leafy, even if she’s pathetically weak.

((Enlightenment 0, Wood-aspected))

“I have a letter of introduction from Ney Adami!” she calls, dropping her voice to a mutter to add “... the smug thieving bastard” under her breath. “He sent me to meet Malek Qaja!”

She eyes the rose-wall evaluatively. Normal plants don’t hinder her passage at all. This is not a normal plant, though. She’s not sure which side would win.

The sentinel nods. “Stand by,” she hollers back. “Wait while I check with my superiors.” Then she’s out of sight.

They wait for ten minutes or so. Then all of a sudden, the thorns writhe and coil, As Keris watches, a doorway opens through the thorn wall, roses blossoming all around the entrance.

((Who is Keris taking with her, etc?))  
((For now just Calesco, on the grounds that she and Calesco can almost certainly get _out_ again if things go pear-shaped and the wall decides to be difficult about reopening.))

Leaving the others with the disguised carriage that carry her mother’s bones inside and trusting Rathan to protect them, she heads into the dark tunnel trailed by Calesco - who again is wearing that Keris-like appearance she first started wearing to get at Maryam.

“Those roses are super-pretty,” Zanara contributes in her head, sounding boyish. “Haneyl is totally going to want to make your borders into this.”

On the other side, it’s light. Keris finds there’s forty veiled and robed female soldiers waiting for her, each one the same height and carrying a long spear. They’re all strangely... plant-like to her senses.

((Again, E0, Wood-aspected.))

The sole one that’s dressed differently still wears the helmet, but her robes are parted to reveal the padded armour underneath. “You say you have a letter from Ney Adami,” she says, as her women level their long spears at Keris and Calesco.

Keris reaches into the inside pocket of her jacket with one hand, moving slowly as she eyes the spearwomen up. She’s been teaching Rounen, Oula and Kuha the spear, and it’s with a teacher’s eyes that she takes in their stance, muscle tone, grip and bearing. They’re not like any style she knows. But then again, Keris fights alone, not in a formation. This is clearly something focussed on fighting as a single unit.

But the surprise there is that they’re quite... indifferent soldiers. Someone spent money on their equipment, but they’re too stiff and probably have never fought someone for real. But they do look damn good in unison.

((Dicepool of 4-5. They have a formation fighting style, but also a parade/impressive formation Expression style, and the latter is higher than the former.))

She can’t resist giving them a deeply, scathingly scornful look as she pulls out the letter and opens it. She doesn’t hand it over; instead holding it up where the talkative woman can read it and ignoring the spearwomen altogether. “Here.”

((Keris is being a bitch again : 3))

She seems to just glance at it, seeing what she needs to see. “Very well. Lady Qaja will see you. Please follow me.”

Keris and Calesco are led through a cultivated and cultured landscape, full of farms and strange things. There are skeletal structures made of polished wood and prayer strips over a single field of sugar beet, then - incongruously - row upon row of glass greenhouses filled with things from across Creation. There’s even mangroves growing in one of the greenhouses. The amount of glass required for these things - Keris sucks in a breath between her teeth. It’s a prince’s fortune. There are more and more women working the fields in the distance, head-scarved and wrapped up warm when they’re outside, wearing veils when they’re inside. Keris doesn’t think she’s seen a single man since she entered this estate.

And then they turn a low hill, and the manor house comes into view. And Keris goes momentarily blank. It’s a lotus. It’s a low building, with a lotus blossom the size of architecture growing out of the top of that. And she realises now that the placement of fields and greenhouses and even the shape of the roads is no accident. This woman has cultivated the entire landscape around her manor.

No. Her manse. And a powerful one at that.

Keris closes her eyes as they approach, letting her hearing sharpen, and sharpen, and _sharpen_ , until it’s at the point of pain and she has to force away the cacophony and focus only on what lies ahead.

((Using Unseen Whisperer Revelation to make all artifacts, manses and demesnes Obvious and let her try to gauge the rating of the manse at Diff 2. Cog+Exp=3+5+2 stunt=10; 6 sux.))

There’s a grand symphony of magic here. The land itself is saturated - and it all focuses to this nexus. This is a powerful manse - but why the magical strength in everything else around her?

((Manse 3. The highest that anyone can easily build in the modern era, which lend credence to the rumours she built it herself.))

It’s not until she sees a cart of something being carried out that Keris realises what is going on. The hearthstones of this manse are probably being treated and ground up and... and fed to the plants in the surrounding valley. She’s forcing her plants to grow with raw wood essence, making something almost akin to firedust but for plants.

Veiled female servants - all plant-like to Keris, all weak, all exactly the same height - greet her and after checking the note, guide her to a lavishly decorated antechamber. The walls are inset with wood panelling made of mahogany and ebony and other hardwoods, while bioluminescent fungi hang down from the ceilings. The servants leave out wine for Keris and Calesco, and then silently leave. They haven’t said a word. This manse is quiet. 

Quiet, apart from the conversation Keris can hear several rooms away.

Her eyes narrow - are these plant-women something like the Paricehet; a hivemind of mute guardians made by the manse? She'll have to check later. Keris puts a finger to her lips to signal Calesco for quiet and drifts over the wall nearest the conversation, running her fingers across the wood as if admiring it as she focuses her ears.

“... yes, yes, mother, trust me.” It’s a woman. “You look wonderful. You will be the most beautiful woman in the room.”

“You’re a flatterer, daughter.” Keris blinks. For a moment, she almost thought the same woman was talking to herself - but no, the voice is slightly deeper, slightly older, and has a stronger accent. “I don’t know why the boy Ney is sending someone to bother me. Goodness knows what he or the Taym boy wants this time. I’m sick of attending to matters personally. Why can’t their vaunted power allow them to handle things?”

“Because you wouldn’t like them to know all your secrets, mother,” the younger woman says wearily.

“Yes, yes, but still. I’m bored, darling. I want to take a trip somewhere. I’m getting antsy.”

“Yes, mother.”

“Now, bring me the aloe. I need to clean off my hands. I wish they’d learn how to send a message ahead, like civilised people! Not drag me straight from my workshop unannounced!”

They don’t say much else interesting, instead just making the sounds of someone getting changed and dressed.

Smiling slightly, Keris relays this to Calesco in a low murmur and settles in wait for the old Wood Dragon’s arrival. If nothing else, Malek is being scornful at Ney, which is something Keris is honestly in complete favour of.

“Maybe I should try growing grapes,” Calesco says, while they wait. She swirls her wine, copying Keris’ gesture. “I could probably grow some very sweet black grapes. Oh, but then I’d have Eko’s dratted keruby raiding them. They’re such a pain. Why do they have to destroy everything?”

Keris is tracking the progress of the two women and their servants, and they seem to be about ready. She hears the younger one, the daughter move into position. 

The power in them both is obvious. The older one is as powerful as Calesco, and her voice smells of the jungles and overly loud blossoms, while the younger one is barely stronger than Oula and her voice crashes like the waves.

((The older one is Enlightenment 6, Wood-aspected, while the younger one is Enlightenment 4, Water-aspected.))

“Here they come,” she murmurs. “Look pretty and seem impressed.”

The grand doors unfold, like a flower blossoming, and a woman waits on the other side. She’s not much taller than Keris - and the same height as all the servants - but she holds herself bolt upright, dressed in fine but plain white clothing. Her eyes are bright green, nearly as green as Haneyl’s, and her skin is slightly darker than the Tairan colour. Her hair is a rich dark green, like the colour of jungle leaves in the shadows. Keris almost frowns, then realises she looks Varangian. She’s ageless in the way Dragonblooded seem to be. And, Keris realises, her features are nearly identical to the guard whose face was revealed. “My mother will see you now,” she says, leading Keris and Calesco into the grand hall.

All around the room, lotuses blossom, casting soft pink light. Here, the insets aren’t hardwoods; they’re green jade. The air is rich with pollen; the place is as humid as a jungle. 

And slowly, the grand blossom in the centre of the room begins to unfold. Reclining in the centre of it is the powerful woman Keris had felt earlier. 

She has the same, Varangian face as her daughter. No, not quite, not quite. She’s older. This Terrestrial woman is ancient enough that she has hints of wrinkles around her eyes, and though her hair is the same dark green as her daughter’s and she’s contoured her face to try to hide the shadows. Keris can smell the freshly applied hair dye on the air. She wears a tiara of green jade, with an amber bindi hanging down onto her brow, and necklace upon necklace of jade and gold plunge into her cleavage. She’s dressed in a daring dress made from lotus blossoms, but these are a rich scarlet which makes her stand out from the pale pink of the blossoms and draws all eyes to her.

She raises a hand, bedecked with rings, offering it to be kissed.. “Welcome, Keris Dulmeadokht, friend of Ney,” she says. “You are my guest.”

((... legit impressed at the level of extra going on here))  
((She is _all_ extra. Keris will realises this very, very quickly :D .))  
((... rolling Temperance... 2 sux.))

Keris bends forward to kiss the largest of the rings, resisting the urge to pop the jewel off the band with a quick bite and swallow it. They probably wouldn’t notice... but she’s here to make friends, not steal things. “My thanks, Malek Qaja,” she greets in turn. “It’s an honour to meet the woman whose work I’ve been admiring since coming to Malra.”

The old woman smiles. “Oh, do say more,” she says, offering her hand to Calesco in turn.

Calesco freezes. Keris can hear her clench her teeth.

Crap, Keris thinks. “The crystal-light vines were one of the first things I noticed in the first town I came across,” she says, reaching down to give Calesco’s hand a supportive, pleading squeeze. “And the way they replace the sewers and make the air all sweet and fresh - it’s beautiful. There were greenhouses there too; better than any I’ve seen before.” She pauses and considers that. “Well, better than any I _had_ seen before. The walk up to your front door put them to shame.”

((Making an indirect prompt to remind Calesco that the magic plants this lady makes have, no matter how extra and haughty she might be, done a lot of good for a lot of people.))

Calesco slowly, and not all that willingly, kisses the hand. Keris remembers that her daughter doesn’t like to be touched - and even if she’s loosened up and is a bit more tactile around her family, she’s not like Rathan who’d be right here schmoozing and probably complimenting the lady’s beauty.

Lady Malek smiles, but there’s something more than a little jaded about it. “What a pretty pair of guests,” she says. “So, do tell me why young Ney sent you to my door? What does he want now? You should have a letter with his latest requests, the scamp. Or is he following Taym’s orders this time?”

Keris passes the letter over, tugging Calesco back a little and shifting subtly to put herself between her daughter and the Dragonblood. “I actually think he sent me because I was so curious about your plantwork,” she admits. “And because he knew I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to meet you.” Behind her, she squeezes Calesco’s hand reassuringly, one slow note of pressure at a time in a steady, calming beat.

“No doubt. No doubt you wanted to meet me,” she says.

((Oh, incidentally, Keris probably snuck root-tendrils through the envelope and read the letter by touch at some point, or some other sneaky way of reading it without giving any sign it had been opened - did it say anything obviously alarming?))  
((No, it was very simple, in fact. It was just a basic note of introduction, and a request that he take care of her as a friend for a bit.))

Keris’s ears sharpen on her at that... oddly confident reaction. Had Ney hidden something in that note? Some sort of secret message like how Sasi can write things only she can see? Had he... no, no, she has to stop this. If she keeps getting paranoid that he’s out-thought her at every turn, she’ll just end up running through a maze that isn’t there, doubting herself at every turn. Unless that’s what he _wants_ her to think... no, no, no. Either way it’s letting him win, grrr. She focuses hard on Malek in lieu of such thoughts, trying to pick out the difference between mere supreme self-confidence and genuine knowledge of some sort. And what she finds surprises her. Under her mask of jaded decadence, this vastly wealthy woman is... not calm. In fact, she’s scared. She’s scared of Keris - and she’s scared of Calesco.

Somehow she knows enough of what they are to be terrified. And she didn’t know before seeing them. No, that’s not it. She didn’t know until she... she got them to kiss her hand.

“... and because, you know, he caught me poking around his town and we nearly had a fight - twice - before he worked out in that _irritatingly clever way_ he has that I’m just in Malra to find my mother and father,” she sighs, deciding to go for broke and come clean. Apparently one of her main secrets is already spilled, so what the hell. “So he volunteered...”

Malek Qaja waves her off, with motions that in a lesser woman might even be undignified panic. “Now, now, I’m sure the things he told you to convey to me are for my ears only,” she says, with a warning glare. “How about we retire to somewhere a little more... comfortable?”

“Of course,” Keris agrees placidly. In a perverse kind of way, Malek’s fear is making her own paranoia vanish. Nobody would be this scared if they thought they were on top of a situation. “My apologies.”

Keris and Calesco are led through into a room that is ‘merely’ about as ornate as the entry room, which seems to be some kind of combination study-library. “Shermine, darling,” Malek tells her daughter, “see to the arrangement of the quarters for them and their other guests the guards say are waiting outside. I believe you’ll be able to handle that yourself, yes?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Good girl.” She waits for her daughter to go, then waits some more. “Why are you here, honoured strangers?” she says quickly, voice low and not as soft as she’s trying to make it. She recovers three fine cups and pours a generous measure of what smells like peach liqueur into each one. The smell of the alcohol in that is almost eye-watering - and Malek downs it in a single slug, offering one to Keris and Calesco.

Keris takes both of them, downing one without hesitation and considering the alcohol content before shaking her head at Calesco. “Not until you’re older,” she says quietly, before going back to normal levels to address Malek. “To wait, my lady. And, if you’re agreeable, to ask a little about your work. I admire it, and I have a younger relative who’d idolise it. We don’t mean to linger in Malra. We’re not here to get involved in the war. I came to Malra to find my mother and father. Ney found me before I got too far, and volunteered to go off and do the work of tracking them down while I sat quietly like a good girl and talked to someone who is - and I’m being perfectly honest here - a genius, about a subject I enjoy, so that I didn’t break the region looking.”

She holds her hands up, empty and pacifying, while Calesco vibrates with tension behind her. “You’re scared - I’m guessing it’s your rings that told you how strong I am?” she continues. “You should feel smug; it took Ney way longer to figure it out. I think,” she adds with a frown. “He might have worked it out earlier and just not said anything, because he’s annoying like that. But I promise, I’m not here to fight or hurt innocents - and Calesco here is determined to stop me if I try to. Ney needed a central place for me to stay while he looked, and he knew I’d want to meet the occultist who created such beautiful work. That’s all.”

Malek relaxes as Keris says this, though she’s still wary. “She is a demon lord, and you are something beyond that,” she says softly. “So are you enemies of Lei Mei, or allies?”

Keris goes briefly blank as she tries to remember if she’s ever heard the name before. It’s... not one of the lords of Taira, she thinks. She doesn’t know of any gods by that name. Maybe a demon?

((Keris knows that she's a Pryian demon lord and a soul of the Chariot From Outside - she’s read of her in Orabilis’ libraries, but never met her.))

“She’s a... demon lord, yes?” she asks. “One of the...” she winces minutely, “... the Whispering Pyre’s. I’ve never met her - not an enemy or an ally, I would say. Why?”

She thinks she knows why, but she’s not going to say out loud that Lei Mei is wise in the occult secrets of life, and that Malek Qaja has done great things here with the magic of plants and living things that grow.

Malek pours herself another shot of peach liqueur, and drinks half of it a little more slowly. “When I was... much younger,” she says, picking her words with care, “I made certain ill-advised deals with her - and once even called upon the demon prince to whom she is ruled by in your Hell. After seeing what he did, I realised that I had been deceived as to his nature. I have paid Lei Mei’s price for over a hundred and fifty years, so you will see I am not a casual defaulter. But her demands have grown onerous and excessive relative to the help she will provide. She no longer even responds to my summons in person, merely sending her servants. If you were no friend of hers - we could be able to come to an arrangement of our own, servants of Hell.”

“I am no-one’s servant,” Keris snaps, voice hard for a moment. “Not Hell’s, not Malra’s, not the shahbanu’s. No-one’s.” She pauses, settling a little. “But... I’m not fond of the Whispering Pyre either. I’ll hear you out, if nothing else.”

Turning, she trades a look with Calesco that’s full of silent communication - and while Calesco’s eyes are furious at the implication of this old woman calling an unbound demon prince out into Creation, there’s as much quiet anger in her mother’s, tempered only by Malek’s evident regret.

“What’s there to say? When I wasn’t yet forty and was rash and hungry for knowledge that this lesser age lacked, I took advantage of my status over in Varang to hunt down demonic cults so I could get my hands on their lore. I thought that Lei Mei would be the one who could teach me the secrets of life I wanted.” She swirls her drink. “The price she demanded was... harsh, but it seemed worth it. The arrogant puppies in the Realm hoard their books and fail to even understand the true power of sorcery, but with secrets I learned from her, I have managed things no one else can.” 

“Oh?” Calesco demands, her voice dangerously soft.

“I grow servants from my own blood, hearthstones, and plants from the Far East I cultivated with my own flesh. I have cracked many of the thought lost secrets of the Dragon Kings and tame their plant-cultivars. The sorcerers of the Realm pretend that sorcery came from Mela, but I know it was always an art of demons - and I have learned all I can, even the theory of the magics only the mightiest lords and princes of demon kind can master. I could be very useful as an ally,” she says directly to Keris. “You wield the power of Hell with the prowess of a demon princess - you’re one, or something similar enough. I could feel the squirming mass of demons under your skin. And if you want tuition in the secrets I learned from Lei Mei and others, I could provide it. She might not like it, but I doubt you care about what a mere demon lord wants.”

Keris points at Calesco. “I care about this one,” she says. A moment later she glances back. “No, sorry. You’re not a mere anything. Or a de-”

Keris stops. Keris turns.

“... you know the theory of the Adamant Circle,” she breathes, taking a step back toward Calesco in entirely genuine, if momentary, fear. That was a level of power that had scared _Sasi_. As someone who’s only dabbled in Emerald Sorcery, it fucking _terrifies_ Keris. A shiver runs through her.

“A little,” Malek says. “The Sun-Chosen were close friends of the Dragon Kings, and some of the reptiles were scribes for their sorcerous lords. I have recovered tablets from their ruins - fractions of spells of such terrible complexity that they could bring life to a desolate region or break the spine of the world to call forth a volcano.”

((“haha”, goes keris internally. “wtf.”))

Malek downs her drink. “But,” she says, “just consider it. I could be very useful to you, just freed of my obligations to Lei Mei... one way or another. In the meantime, consider yourself my guests. Please, enjoy the hospitalities I offer. Nothing is denied to you; meals, drinks, baths. And if either of your honoured selves would like to aid me in my work in return for access to some of the parts of my libraries, why, I would thank you for such help. Just... one thing.” She pauses. “My daughters are not to know, do you understand? They do not know of my deal with ones such as you, and things are going to stay that way. Please.”

That much, Keris can agree to. “They won’t,” she promises. “They’re innocents in this.”

“Then I will leave you to settle in. My servants will see to your every need. I am sorry, but I must get back to my work - but if I do not see you at lunch, I will see you at dinner. Do consider my offer, darlings. I could be very useful to either of you.” And with that said, she bows, and leaves silently, her lotus-dress shushing behind her.


	7. Chapter 7

“Behold!” Oula slams her spear - one of the folding ones Keris stole - into the ground, “Prince Rathan arrives! Prince of a distant sea, he comes!”

Rathan enters. He’s adjusted his clothing, and now he drips with jewellery and fine silks. His horns are pretending to be part of a fine gold helmet, and his open robe bares his chest. “Thank you, thank you,” he says generously. 

Looking on, Keris groans inwardly. Whatever Rathan saw on the way in here has clearly led him to redouble his efforts to impress Malek Qaja.

Unfortunately, the assembly waiting for him does not contain the lady of the household. It does, however, contain her daughter. And there are things she’s not meant to know.

((Keris has to act to stop Rathan from being too... uh, free with information.))

“Perhaps save your introductions until the lady of the house is here, Rathan,” she says warningly, moving over to shush the pair of them. “Malek Qaja is in her laboratories, and we won’t see her until later. Until then, I’d like to talk to you and Calesco in private.” Her daughter, no doubt, has her own list of things to air - and since she’s being better about waiting to voice them, Keris decides to let her go first once they’re alone.

Shermine Qaja nods, looking Keris straight with her very green eyes. “I have instructed the servants to prepare the guest quarters. They are just outside the main house - head out the door and cross the Southern garden. Please do not walk on the plants.” She has none of her mother’s florid gestures or mannerisms - her words are blunt and to the point. “Lunch shall be when the noon bell rings. I will send a servant to fetch you.”

The guest quarters are not quite as lavish as the main building, but they’re still in a solid stone two floor structure with adjoining wings. The entire facade of the building is covered in roses, which are just starting to bloom in every colour of the rainbow.

Calesco heads over to quickly reassure her girls, who are clearly wary of the wealth and magic on display here. Xasan for his part simply finds a bedroom and flops down onto it. “I believe I’ll take a nap,” he says loudly. “My feet are killing me.”

Keris herself beelines for the twins and hoists them into her arms; cradling them close. Their little entourage is soon enough sorted out; the girls settled down with food, Xasan snoring, Maryam and Kerisa’s bones carefully placed in separate dark rooms out of the sun and Kali and Ogin both asleep and snuggled up against Keris. Holding them like this means she can’t use her arms for anything, but she’s just going to be talking. Motioning Rathan, Calesco and Oula into a parlour, Keris sinks into an armchair and sighs.

“Right then. First of all, well done Calesco; you did fantastically. I know you must have been holding a lot back while we were talking to her, so...” she tilts an ear to their surroundings briefly and then nods, “Go ahead. We’re free to speak now.”

“She’s an awful person,” Calesco says, voice low and intense. “Just... honestly, she’s not so different from the demons she makes deals with! Look at all these things she made! What did she trade for it, hmm?!”

“A question I’m going to ask her before making any decision on what to do,” Keris agrees. “Rathan; Calesco and I had an interesting chat with Malek Qaja. She recognised us - I think one of her rings is an artifact that lets her sense power - and apparently she’s indebted to a Pyrian demon lord for her aid in sorcery and occultism and the secrets of life and so on. Malek wants out of the deal - she says Lei Mei has stopped providing any help, but still demands payment.” Her lips purse. “She has a lot to offer. But she’s admitted to calling on - and possibly calling _out_ , in some form - Lei Mei’s Greater Self; one of the souls of the Whispering Pyre. And... well...”

“She only wants out of her bargain because she’s sick of paying!” Calesco cuts in, furiously. “She’s not even sorry!”

“... yes, that,” Keris finishes, stroking Kali’s hair gently as her daughter snuffles in her sleep. “What would you do with her, Calesco? What would your decision be? I can see... I dunno, three general options? Leave her here, take action against her, or help her for a price.”

“I just want to go home,” Calesco whines - and it is a whine, a reminder that she is very young after all. “Everyone important here in Taira pretends to be so _perfect_ , but they’re rotten; rotten to the core. Those really nice plants were made with whatever horrible things she traded to the demons for. The towns here in Malra are happy but there’s those _disgusting_ Illuminationists here and it’s built on their silver mines and those use slaves! And it was the same back in Terema with Orange Blossom and her own infernalist _lackey_. I hate this whole country and I just want to leave it behind!” She’s pouting behind her veil; her expression sulky.

“You’re acting like a baby,” Rathan says with a fake yawn. 

“You’re acting like a baby!” she snaps back, hair rising up in agitation.

“Cool it down, little sister. No one is impressed.”

Beckoning her over, Keris draws Calesco into a loose embrace with her hair. “We’ll be here for a week at the most,” she says softly. “Then we’ll get a lead on my papa, and that’s the last thing we need this country for. After that, we’re gone. We’re going home very soon, I promise.”

She lets the hug last for a few moments longer, as Calesco’s fists clench and unclench and her hair twists around on itself unhappily. “I take it that means you want to just leave Malek in whatever mess she’s made for herself and get out of Taira as soon as we finish here?”

“I want her to stop being awful! Or if she won’t... well, it depends what she’s doing now and how bad it is.” Calesco’s tone is very final, even if her words aren’t very constructive or useful for detailed planning

Keris nods. “Then I’ll find that out before making a decision. Rathan? Your thoughts?”

“Well, I don’t think you’ve told me everything yet,” he says, sitting back, hair idly flicking at an imaginary abacus. “But someone who could build all this could be very, very useful indeed. And if she’s trapped in an unfair deal - well, that’s not fair on her. And,” he smiles, “come on, mama, you can’t say that stealing away the asset of a Pyrian demon doesn’t appeal to you. Get her in our debt, don’t ask for anything too onerous, and she could be a tile up our sleeves... that we don’t necessarily have to tell the All-Thing about.” He grins a pearly grin.

Keris nods with a faint smirk, accepting his point. “It does still depend what exactly she’s paying this demon with,” she points out. “If it’s things like hearthstones or essence crystals, that’s one thing. If it’s people... I’ll be a lot less forgiving. And even if it’s something relatively harmless, she said she called on a demon prince in her youth - and he did something that sickened even her. She seems ashamed of it, if the way she wants her daughters to know nothing of her dealings with Hell is anything to go by, but I’m still not going to trust her.”

“Oh, mama,” Rathan says, flapping his hand at her. “You don’t have to trust someone to find them useful. Like Haneyl! She’s not trustworthy, but you can still make a deal with her when Eko’s being a pain in the backside. This woman hasn’t proven we can trust her, but could you imagine what her saffron-poppies could be worth in the South West? Or, hell, we could just find a ship for her and send her to scout out the South West for islands. Or leave her building a manse like this. We don’t need to trust her for that kind of thing.”

“Mmm,” Keris agrees. “We’ll find out more, then. No more big displays, though - we’ll leave her daughters out of it and keep any discussion of Hell-stuff away from them. I’ll ask about her pact-price when we next see her, and take a look into her laboratories tomorrow to get a better idea of what she can do.”

Zanara interrupts. “Don’t I get a say?” he demands. “Look at her artistry. Look at the place she built! Everything’s worth this!”

“Zanara is very much in favour,” Keris repeats, with a fond roll of her eyes. “Not that anybody is surprised by that. And Vali and Eko?”

There’s a boom in Keris’ head. “Not sure where Eko is, but if she _promised_ to do whatever she does, she has to do it,” Vali says mulishly, somewhat out of breath. “Because you have to follow your promises.” He pauses. “Unless there’s no way of getting out of it. Because if there’s no way out of a promise by paying a big price, it’s not a promise, it’s slavery.”

“I reckon if there was a way for her to get out of it by paying a lot all at once, she’d have done it,” Keris answers. “From what she said, she’s been stuck in this pact for a century and a half. But I’ll ask her that too. Later. For now; we’ve been on the road for a week and I could do with a bath and a doze; I’m sure everyone else feels the same way. We’ll meet back up before lunch or supper to find out more.”

Rathan grins. “I’m interested in meeting her, anyway. You know everyone here I saw had the same face? I got some of them to take their helmets off. And the daughter has the same face too.”

“She grows them from plants, blood and hearthstones,” Keris tells him, extracting herself from the armchair and leading the quartet in search of a pair of bathrooms. Kali and Ogin could probably do with a wash, too - though not until they wake up - and they’ll want feeding again soon. “And since you’re so charming, you might be able to help her let some things slip that she’d otherwise keep back...”

The beds here are luxurious feather-padded things. Keris hasn’t had a bed this nice since she was in Terema, and she’s very pleased about this. With two sleeping babies arranged in the crook of her arms, she starts off just testing the bed.

But, the test turns into a nap, and Keris dozes off.

And opens her eyes in a dark place. There’s hardly any light down here, but there’s the sound of a lot of breathing. She thinks it’s a cave.

Keris looks up. The ceiling is filled with sleeping inverted szelkeruby, hanging from their feet.

She opens her mouth, finds no words and closes it again. So she’s... in the Ruin, somewhere, it would seem. And Eko’s friends apparently like to take naps on the ceiling.

She looks down. There are bones on the floor. Mostly... she crouches to brush her fingers through the little, brittle remains - yes, most of these are sugarcane toad remains. Lots of them. Oh, but here’s a femur from those skull-headed deer-like beasts that only have one leg in front and one behind.

There are no remains of any citizens, at least. Though when Keris follows the sound of the wind out, she finds a few crude warning marks scratched on the rocks outside, outlining a terrible and bloody doom for anything that ventures inside.

It’s even odds, really, on whether that’s a good-hearted warning from other citizens to stop wanderers being mobbed by a pack of knife-wielding wind-cherubs, or whether the szelkeruby troupe put it there to make sure nobody disturbed their naptime.

She finds that outside, Eko has built something that looks like a training field with... well, with many things scattered around it. There are tents set up here, with words scratched into the ground before them.

“Blood consumption,” Keris reads. And next door is “Being really good at fighting”. And next to that is “Emotional self-actualisation,” although that one seems to have been mostly destroyed and the words are crossed out.

Keris finds Eko in “Shouting at them until they just do it”. She pokes her head in the door, and sees Eko and a classroom in front of her.

Come on, Eko demands with an accusing jab of her fingers. She’s bouncing up and down on her toes with sheer impatience. Do it, she orders with narrowed eyes. It’s inside you, because... well, Keris can’t understand some of those gestures. They’re too fast and too complicated. And all of Eko’s motions and gestures are exaggerated and forceful. She’s not happy. She’s angry.

And from their body language, the szelkeruby are somewhere between scared, angry and sullen.

One of them raises their hand, clearly not understanding.

Eko throws a fast-eroding piece of chalk at them. What are they, stupid, her body language demands. If Rathan’s stupid keruby can manage it, so can they!

“Hey, hey,” Keris says, moving in to calm her eldest child. “What’s going on here? What do you want them to do?”

Eko throws her hands wide in sheer frustration. They just need to get their act together, pull their socks up, tie their ribbons in their hair and bloody well grow up, her posture states. If Rathan’s Oula - her expression is very mocking - can manage it, any of her way smarter keruby should be able to manage it. Eko is bored of having literal children around the place!

“... you... want them to mature?” Keris asks. Well, that explains the tents. Though... ‘emotional self-actualisation’? What had she been doing in- no, no, probably better not to ask. “Well, um... I was there when Oula grew up. Maybe if you talked to me about it, we could work out why it happened?” The scared, sullen keruby behind her are unnerving her a bit. They’re usually as happy as their patron, and seeing both sides so upset feels wrong.

... also they’re kids, basically, and Eko is being more than a bit... well, horrible to them.

Eko picks up another piece of chalk, just so she can throw it down sullenly to express just how _done_ she is with trying to teach these idiots. Why is she surrounded by idiots, her expression bemoans.

“You just said they were smart,” Keris feels obliged to point out. “They can’t be both at once.”

If they weren’t all idiots, they’d have managed it if Rathan’s stupid Oula managed it, Eko counters, jabbing her finger at her mother. Her keruby are meant to be the smartest and oldest and best because _she_ invented them, but they’re just all idiots who can’t even grow up and even _human_ children manage that, she expands with a footstomp.

“Okay, enough of that,” Keris says, a little more firmly. “Why don’t you let this class go and we can think about what’s missing, hmm? If they haven’t matured yet, it’s probably just because something’s stopping them.”

Sticking her hands in the pockets of her dress, Eko storms out, the slump of her shoulders telling mama that the thing that’s stopping them is that they’re all too stupid to understand what Eko is trying to tell them. Keris makes a few discreet “go go go” gestures to the szelkeruby, who take the opportunity to pile out of the tent through the opposite wall, and then goes after Eko. She’s not used to seeing her fifth soul this upset. The last time she held such a state of anger for so long - and it looks like this has been in play for a few hours at least, given the other tents - was... well, probably after Keris let Adorjan cut her tongue out.

“How about a run?” she suggests. “Or a spar?”

Eko flops down onto the ground, eroding head and hand and feet craters into the ground. What’s the point, her desolate posture demands. Her keruby are failures and they’re not even doing what Haneyl’s are doing because she ran over to see how the Swamp was doing and it’s obvious that Haney’s keruby are evolving into three forms because, like, that’s so obvious and blargh! She rolls over, kicking her feet on the ground. The keruby are _hers_! Hers are meant to be the best because they’re hers and it’s so unfair! Unfair unfair unfair!

Keris feels vaguely proud that she’s not greatly surprised by that. She’d noticed something vaguely similar herself, in how Saji, Elly and Rounen were diverging. But it’s true that the szelkeruby aren’t, really, and this is an issue she doesn’t know how to fix.

She turns her mind to the cause behind it instead. Oula evolved, Haneyl’s... are evolving, which is odd, because they’ve been splitting into three for a while but none of them have actually grown up yet. And Eko’s aren’t evolving at all. Of course, keruby have always been full of surprises, no matter the breed - perhaps a consequence of Eko creating them - and yet Keris feels like she was onto something when she’d mentioned something being missing. Somehow, in some way, Eko’s attempts to force her friends to mature are in vain because of whatever wall they’ve run up against. Or whatever component they lack - like an alchemical brew without half the...

... without half the ingredients. Thinking back to Oula’s evolution, it dawns on Keris slowly, and she draws a line from that guess to Haneyl’s own keruby.

“Oula evolved after I took in the Silver Forest,” she says, working it out as she goes. “And she has mercury hair and quicksilver fingernails and silvery blood - Rathan too; his moon has been bleeding silver ever since, and there’s a second sea of liquid metal forming under the ocean. Haneyl’s always been as much fire as she is plants; her nature’s dual-parted already, so... is it because she’s not here? Oula evolved after she was out and about _with_ Rathan; Elly and Saji haven’t seen her in ages and Rounen only gets her in glimpses when I send him as a messenger.

“And you, sweetheart,” Keris sighs, kneeling down by Eko and stroking her hair with a cautious hair-tendril, “you’re not like Calesco; as much the Dragon as she is the Silent Wind. You’re still a pure child of your Other Mama. Maybe your szelkeruby need... I dunno, a different perspective on things, to grow up? To see the world in more than just how they see it as children.”

Eko stops kicking the ground, and starts thinking. Her babbled hand gestures... well, Keris doesn’t understand most of them, although she thinks she calls her ‘fat’ at some point.

((And Keris successfully and accidentally shifts the blame from the szelkeruby to herself, for not learning more Charms for Eko.))

Frowning at that - maybe Eko’s thinking about what happened while she was still pregnant - Keris waits for her daughter to finish whatever rapid-fire mental calculus she’s running through. At least she doesn’t seem to be having a tantrum or slumping in depression anymore. And, on top of that, Keris seems to have figured something out first for once!

... fuck, this might actually be the first time. Ever. Now Keris is the one feeling depressed.

Eko apparently discards her chain of thought, explaining with a shrug that she’ll think about it more later when less interesting things are going on. Right now, her hung head indicates, she’s feeling bad about how she’s been acting to her friends. It was mama’s fault for not providing poor Eko the... okay, Keris didn’t get that gesture, but apparently Eko needs it to... to butterfly her keruby?

“I’m sorry?” she hazards, on the grounds that she’s apparently done something wrong even if she’s not sure what. “Maybe you should go apologise to your friends, if you’ve been mean to them. You were bullying them a bit, and it’s not really their fault that they can’t grow up yet. A ribbon-festival or something might cheer them up.”

Eko curls up on the ground. She looks up at Keris. But, she explains miserably, she’s... she’s sick of being surrounded by children. And when she was little, her friends were almost as smart as her but Eko keeps on getting cleverer and cleverer and they don’t get any smarter and... and... and that’s why she went off to the Swamp in the first place, because at least Haneyl’s keruby read things so they know interesting things while her friends barely read anything. And Eko wanted something interesting to happen because she’s been trying to be a responsible big sister and look after her darling baby sister’s keruby while she’s gone but things keep on going wrong and... and she misses Calesco and she misses Haneyl and she even misses Rathan and and and and how _dare_ mama make Calesco upset by not being there and now her darling little sister has killed people and Calesco wasn’t meant to kill people she was meant to carry messages and killing is Eko’s job and Calesco having to do it makes her miserable and...

It all comes out in a silent wail, of things Eko can’t say and usually hides down.

“Oh... oh, darling.”

Keris opens her arms and braces herself, and Eko pours into them, drawing painful scrapes up and down Keris’s steel-hard skin that deepen as Keris cradles her. She hadn’t known Eko was concealing so much misery, and a sick feeling of guilt turns over in her stomach for missing it. “There now, come on. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

Too many of these things, she can do little to nothing about. Eko’s genius is something even Keris can’t rival without sustained effort, and she’ll need to find some new branch of the All-Maker’s gifts to learn for the szelkeruby to evolve - one that will synergise enough with Eko for her to absorb it, to boot. Rathan and Haneyl and Calesco are all out of the Domain, and while another new moon is coming and while she’s achingly sympathetic, Keris isn’t sure she can risk summoning Eko into Taira; not when she’s so impulsive and the region is so unstable. She hasn’t been able to call on her much in combat recently, either, so Eko hasn’t been getting as many glimpses of outside.

And Calesco’s girls...

“I’m sorry,” Keris repeats in a whisper. “I know, I know I should have been there. Calesco shouldn’t have had to do that. I think... I think she’s less torn up about it now; I think I managed to settle her guilt, but she shouldn’t have had to and I’m so sorry she did.”

There aren’t any solutions Keris can give for what’s making Eko upset. All she can do is listen, and ignore the keen, sharp wounds as she cuddles her.

Eko, lanky, thin, taller than Keris snuggles in and Keris just has to tolerate the pain of her presence. Everything was easier when she was little, Eko’s shaking shoulders say. Life got all complicated and hard over the past year. And not as much fun.

“I know, darling,” Keris murmurs. “I know.”

They stay like that for a while, before Keris remembers what she’d come to the Ruin for in the first place. “Have you heard what’s happening outside?” she asks. “Are you up to date on what’s going on with Ney and Malek and what to do about her? I thought I’d come and ask your opinion, since the others gave theirs.”

Eko's weary rubbing of her eyes asks her mama what she thinks. After all, she's bigger than Eko and her siblings, and can mix things in ways they can’t. Eko shrugs. She can tell Keris what Rathan would say or Haneyl can say, but she can’t tell Keris what she’ll do because she’s pulled between all of them.

With a tilt of her head, she asks whether Keris has talked to Dulmea-grandmother yet. She’d know more about demonologists than Eko.

“Not yet,” Keris admits. “But you make a good point. I think I’m going to find out exactly what she’s been selling to Hell for her pact. If it’s something too bad, I can’t work with her. And we’ve got a week before Ney comes back, so I have time.”

She scowls. “Speaking of Ney, you might have a rival for being smarter than me,” she mutters. “And faster. And more annoying. Rrrgh.”

Eko looks up, and gives Keris a watery smile. It’s just a sign of how mama doesn’t know how to handle her own life, she indicates with her expression. Ney is _wonderful_ for Keris. He’s handsome, he looks a bit like her, he’s hilariously funny, and he’s super clever and observant. Keris would be a big stupidhead if she let him escape, Eko indicates. And - some of the white ribbons in Eko’s face turn red - uh, mama and him like each other enough to be very loud.

Eko coughs, clearly embarrassed. Eko felt the ground move a week ago, she gestures, looking away. And, uh, mama was very loud. She doesn’t want to repeat herself, but... yes. But, she hastens to add, it made mama very happy.

Now Keris is blushing too. “He’s... he’s infuriating!” she protests, cheeks burning. “And lazy and he tells ridiculous lies and... and I’m not letting him escape!” There’s a beat of silence as Eko’s head whips round, and Keris realises her mistake a second too late. “I mean there’s nothing for him to escape from!” she scrambles to add. “Because I’m not- we’re not... there’s nothing happening there! I don’t like him like that!”

Eko grins, much more openly. Silly mama, acting like Haneyl, she smiles. Mama liiiiiiiiiiiikes him a lot. She likes going on walks under the full moon with him, and she likes his lies and his stories and she likes the way he pokes at her and even the way he makes her think all the time.

Flicking her hair, Eko adds that mama really likes how he’s not like Sasi and doesn’t make her worry a lot. Because Sasi is sad and worried and scared a lot, and Ney isn’t. And mama doesn’t want to have to be scared and she’s not scared for Ney so she can relax around him.

Ducking her head, Keris looks off to the side. “It’s not that I don’t love Sasi,” she says, feeling uncomfortably defensive. “Sasi is wonderful. If I had to choose between her and Ney, I’d choose her. It’s just...”

Ney is _fun_ , Eko fills in for her with a wink.

“... maybe,” Keris says, with a silent ‘hmmph’ and a flick of her own hair. “I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing it if he is, though. He’d just get a big head about it.”

Eko nods. Mama is soooooooooo much like Haneyl in some ways, she agrees. And like Vali too. Mama fights the people she likes.

Her eyes widen. Actually, she likes to spar with Eko, too! She likes fighting Eko too! And, Eko adds wisely, she even pretends that Eko’s pranks and jokes aren’t funny when really mama finds them hilarious.

“...” says Keris, processing that, and then drops her face into her hands. “Oh gods,” she mutters. “I can never let you meet him. Ever. You’d be terrible together.”

((... Eko still has all five boons.))  
((Dammit.))

Don’t worry, Eko indicates, patting Mama on the shoulder. She’ll make sure she’s there for the wedding.

((So, the lady of the house is skipping lunch, but her daughters will be there. One is the one you’ve met - the other looks 14 and is a newly Exalted Wood aspect like her mother. Do you want to meet them?))  
((Sure, Keris will go along, especially since Dulmea has told her to get more information before she’ll render an opinion.))

Keris is woken by Oula tugging her arm. “Come on, aunty,” she says. “It’s lunch time soon, and Rathan says you need to make sure you - and me - are looking good.”

Fairly soon they’re being escorted by more of the identical servants through to a dining space in one of the greenhouses. The soil here is sandy and the plants growing here are things Keris vaguely recognises as being from the far South East - scrubby bushes and cactuses.

This is a less grandiose affair, because the lady of the house is not in attendance. As a result, her older daughter is hosting the dinner. Rathan immediately makes a beeline for her and makes his grandiose introductions - which produces a hiss of indrawn breath from Oula at the sight of him talking to a pretty woman.

However, this time the younger daughter is also present. Pardis is incredibly weak for an Exalt, in Keris’ eyes a lesser version of her mother in every way - including the fact she’s dressed more elaborately than her elder sister. She only looks to be in her early teenage years, but she’s wearing a deep green gown that’s cut a little too daringly, and has already acquired quite a prodigious and slightly tasteless amount of jewellery. Her green eyes flick to Rathan and then to Calesco and she smiles broadly.

((Wood aspected, Enlightenment 2))  
((From what Keris has seen, is the creepy silence of the servant-clones a thing of being disciplined or of being non-sapient?))  
((She’s not sure - but they don’t seem to chatter, even among themselves.))  
((Hmm. But Rathan said he got a few of them to take their helmets off.))  
((Ah, yes, you mean the servants. The household servants don’t chatter - the soldiers seem to show a little more initiative.))  
((Interesting... and are these Malek’s only two DB daughters?))  
((Yes, it would appear so.))

Keris keeps one ear on Rathan and Oula as she draws the Pardis and Calesco into conversation; complimenting the beauty of Malek’s manse-home and trying to get a feel for what this younger Dragonblood of the family is like. Pardis... may be a problem, Keris decides. She’s clearly very intelligent and wants everyone to know it. She’s also fascinated by Rathan and Calesco, who appear to be strangers her age who are very pretty - and she says as much to Keris, when lured just a bit. From how she brags, her mother seems to treat her as a protégé and has been giving her personal tuition for extended periods ever since she Exalted. And of course she plays nine musical instruments, is a gifted gardener and she’s learning the occult from her mother and she always knew she was special even above the other special ones and...

“Ahem,” Shermine says loudly. “Dearest, sweetest little sister, please stop boring our guests with your blather.” She fixes her deep green eyes on Keris. “So you mentioned you passed through Terema, yes? How are the markets doing? The shahbanu won’t let our products through her lines, and it makes it awfully hard to grasp the state of trade.”

Oh gods, Keris thinks quietly. She’s a Dragonblooded Haneyl. From the look on Calesco’s face, she’s thinking almost exactly the same thing as Keris clears her throat and answers as best she can. “Well, we were only passing through,” she cautions, “but they looked healthy enough for now. The saffron trade isn’t reliable, though, and the glut of mercenaries spilling into and out of the country is warping everything else around it.”

“Hmm. We may need to increase production, then,” she observes casually. “I’ll need to talk with the Naib to see if he wants to pay for us to expand.”

“Oh, yes, you have your clever little set-up for producing it more efficiently, don’t you?” Keris says brightly. Maybe it’s the verbal sparring with Ney still fresh in her memory, or maybe it’s the way that Malek was so obviously scared of her, but she feels safe needling them a bit to provoke a reaction. “The poppies, yes? I noticed them on the way here. Very elegant. Your mother’s a brilliant woman.”

((A prod in what might be a secret process, and also a nudge to see what their opinions of Malek are.))  
((Keris isn’t using BOT because, heh, she’s being Zanaran at the moment, not Rathanite.))

“You’d need to talk to my mother about the way that she did it - but yes. She will no doubt appreciate being told she’s brilliant,” Shermine says with a completely flat face.

“Which she is!” Pardis adds with a pout.

“Of course she is. She’s unquestionably brilliant.” Shermine rests down her flatbread and puts her couscous aside. “But of course everyone here is aware of this, so perhaps we could take it as an axiom and move on with the discussion?”

Oh, now there’s a reaction that speaks of exasperation, Keris thinks. No doubt Shermine hears Malek’s own boasting multiple times a day, and it sounds like she’s more than a little tired of it.

((Keris is focusing in on her to make a Read Principle action to see if that’s just her being not Extra at all and a total buzzkill, or whether there’s some friction there.))

Keris has problems reading this woman - compared to her lavishly extravagant mother and little sister who seems to copy the mother, she’s much more reserved.

But then again, she’s of water. Of course she has hidden depths, Eko observes with a giggle.

Lunch passes without any major incidents, although Oula is looking daggers at Pardis and deliberately shifts to get closer to Rathan. Pardis for her part just shifts her attention to Calesco after observing that Rathan is taken. “So,” she says, leaning in towards Calesco, “you have such interesting taste in clothing. Don’t you get hot dressed like that?”

“It suits me,” Calesco says chillily. “It’s even hotter where I come from. This weather is cold for me.”

“Oh? And where is that?” Pardis asks, tilting her head with a sharp look of interest.

“It’s a long way away,” Calesco says. “In the South West.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! I’ve always dreamed of travelling! Taira used to be civilised, or so I read - but the war’s done horrible things to it. I’d love to see Perswha or the beauties of the capital.” She shrugs. “Maybe I will when Taym-y is crowned. Mother will be one of his chief advisors and his minister of agriculture, of course, so we’ll probably move there!”

“Believe me, I’m aware of what the war has done to Taira,” Keris puts in, losing humour. “Though Malra has obviously been spared most of it. How long has it been like this; with the Illuminationists so strong and sun-children supporting it?”

Pardis looks a little blank at that. “All my life, I think,” she says. “I mean, of course, when Mahshid took over the Illuminated Ones, that’s when things really started thriving. Maybe?” She shoots a look at her sister.

Shermine takes a sip of pomegranate juice - and, Keris notes, there’s no meat on the table anywhere. “Mahshid Atrai has been the guiding light of the Illuminated Ones for four years, yes,” she says calmly. “Of course, the plateau has always been more faithful to the Sun than the rest of the country and not corrupted by the lures of lesser spirits and the moon.”

“Yes,” Keris says, more slowly. “We saw evidence of that on the way up to the plateau.” A quick glance at Rathan is enough to have him divert the topic before Calesco fires off something bright and piercing.

“You’re very well educated for someone who lives in such a remote place,” Rathan says easily. He knows how to handle Haneyl when she’s in a mood - a Dragonblooded can’t be more of a challenge.

“Oh, in the past year I’ve been all over with mother! And of course, she wanted me well-educated! I’m going to be her face at court,” Pardis brags. “Just like big sister does all the boring management things and...”

“And isn’t so vain as to brag in front of strangers,” her big sister says sharply. She looks back at Keris. “So how exactly did you meet that _incredibly_ frustrating man, Ney?” she asks Keris. “Why would he send you here of all places? And please, don’t claim it was just because you were interested - unless you have your hooks in him so deep that he’s willing to give you that? Is it just that you’re in bed with him?” 

((Does Keris feel guilty about sleeping with Ney when it’s brought up in front of her children?))  
((Hmm. Awkward, but not guilty. Her reaction is more going to be tsun than “I shouldn’t have done that”, because unlike with Lelabet - and, uh, under the bluster - Dulmea and Eko are correct that she really likes him. She hadn’t told her group that she slept with him, but what Shermine said sounded more like a guess. So no, no guilt.))

Keris’s cheeks shade faintly red, and she does her best to ignore the last sentence as if unworthy of her notice. “If I’d got _hooks_ in him, I’d have used them to drag him off a roof after he caught up with me,” she snaps, still a little sore about having been beaten in their race. “He saw me scouting ahead of our group when we arrived on the plateau and decided to turn it into a race. And won,” she adds sulkily, glowering. “And then he was, yes, _incredibly_ frustrating and perceptive, but not quite enough that I tried to stab him - or at least not more than once, or very hard. When he worked out I’m here following a matter of Harborite honour, he offered his help.”

She rolls her eyes theatrically. “As for why he sent me _here_ ; I couldn’t tell you all his reasons. I don’t doubt he had more than one, but he’s lazy enough that he barely shared the first: it’s central enough that when he finds what we’re in Malra for, we can get there quickly and then leave. I got the impression he was keen for us not to linger too long if we weren’t going to get involved in the war. And I suppose he thought my interest in your mother’s work would keep me occupied for a week or so until he got back. You seem familiar with how annoying he can be; I’m guessing you’ve had to suffer his attentions before?”

((And she got 1 success on her 14 dice roll to try to cold-read Keris, so she can’t read Keris’ p-p-poker face.))  
((lol))  
((Well, she can read the surface layer of “god, that man is annoying”. But this is not news to anyone.))

“I’ve met him,” Shermine says. “He’s obnoxious, a flirt, and tells ridiculous stories.”

“I thought he was cute,” Pardis mutters below her breath - which Keris can still hear. “He treated me like a little girl.”

“He tells ridiculous _lies_ , and he’s lazy but still annoyingly clever, and he _stole my hair ornaments_ ,” Keris scowls. Rathan, Oula and Calesco show remarkably sibling unity by rolling their eyes, dropping their faces into their hands and generally looking exasperated. Hmm. Maybe she _has_ brought that up a bit frequently over the past week. She clears her throat. “But if he gets us a lead on what we’re here for, I’ll...” There’s a brief pause as she wrestles with the word ‘forgive’. “... not take it out of his hide. I suppose.”

“Hmm.” Shermine doesn’t trust Keris, she thinks, but they make it through the meatless meal with no further incident.

“You know,” Oula says as they return to the guest quarters, “I don’t think I’ve mentioned enough how nice it is to be able to eat dry food and things without salt in. I tried some of the things I used to eat and now they just taste really soggy and salty. I think my tastebuds changed.”


	8. Chapter 8

When lunch is over, Keris has a stomach full - although lacking meat - and now she decides to find Malek Qaja herself.

But then she finds that Malek Qaja isn’t an easy lady to find. There are locked doors around here, and she can’t hear her in the manse. She remembers the direction Malek had retreated in - roughly - and that’s as good a place to start as any. If push comes to shove she can just try every door she can find and do it the slow way. She winds up heading out in expanding circles since she can’t find her target in the manse. Eventually she finds the other woman out in the fields, dressed in hard-wearing white robes and a veil, and squatting over a bee-hive. She’s doing something with them using - Keris frowns - a feather-fine brush, taking a few of them and trapping them in a glass jar.

When Keris is disturbed in the middle of something intensive and requiring focus - be it silverwork, alchemy or otherwise - her usual reaction is to glare or, if stressed, throw things. So she pads silently up behind Malek and waits for the old Dragonblood to finish whatever she’s doing and straighten up before announcing her presence with a flick of hair in her peripheral vision.

“I have a few more questions,” she starts.

“Do you know anything about bees?” Malek demands, without really turning around.

“... not really. Calesco is the beekeeper,” Keris says with a shrug. “I’ve been recruited to help her move things once or twice; no more.”

“Damn. This hive keeps on killing the new queens I’m adding, and I’m not sure why. I think it might be the smell, even though coating the queen in ground-up wings from others usually works.” She shakes her head, flipping up her veil. “So what do you want to know? And what can you help me with in return?”

“You want out of your... agreement made decades ago,” Keris says; switching the bluntness for veiled reference at the last moment. She doesn’t think anyone is listening, but why take a chance? “I’m not against helping you with that, but I want to know what your half of the deal is. What are you paying?”

The older woman doesn’t answer immediately, first putting her bee-keeping equipment away and making sure to get the smoke away from the hive. She sits on a bench, beside a path overlooking the hives. “She asks for something every year,” Malek says, her tone neutral. “I said I was a young fool when I agreed, and that remains true. Sometimes - often - it’s aiding her cults. Other times she demands I make an artefact of some kind to her instructions. Once every seventeen years she demands a tithe of souls. I developed my plantgrown as a way to cheat her at that - though I believe she cares only for the souls.”

Keris goes quiet, working that out in her head. A hundred and fifty by seventeen... eight or nine times, then.

“You give her the beast-plantgrown? The ones that don’t talk or have much independence?” she clarifies. “They’re like animals with souls attached?”

“Of course.” Malek seems shocked even at the implication. “She demanded souls, not people. So she gets ones who fell from their pod too soon, too stupid to learn how to tend to the crops, and the freshly harvested ones straight out of their three month growth periods. I wouldn’t give her a soldier, let alone one of my assistants.”

Keris nods absently, looking out at the beehives as she considers that. She’s sort of reminded of the Meadows by the sight, which is a comparison Calesco probably wouldn’t be very impressed by.

The artifacts aren’t much of a concern. Anything like that will likely be used in Hell, against other demon lords. The cults are a little more of a concern just for how frequent they are, but there are lots of ways for demons to promote cults; one more isn’t that bad and Keris herself has spread the Shashalme’s influence in An Teng.

But eight or nine times, Malek has given Lei Mei a tithe of souls. What could a Pyrian demon lord want them for? Prayer-slaves? Yeah, Keris decides; probably prayer-slaves in Hell. It’s hard to keep a large prayer-choir for long; there are more births than available souls in the Demon City and every dead slave will be a hun and po flitting off to some squalling infant in a demonic tower or slum. A load of souls locked in inert plant-matter would stay put, and you could free one hun-po pair each time your prayer-slaves had a child to make sure they got both and weren’t stillborn.

So Lei Mei probably has a prayer-choir locked up somewhere. That’s... certainly an attractive side-benefit of smashing up her place and doing whatever’s needed to free Malek from her pact. She can free them at the same time.

“How long did it take you to develop the plantborn?” Keris asks slowly, a little frown of focus tweaking her eyebrows. “Did you give her them from the first time she asked for souls, or did she demand them up-front before you could grow the first crop?”

“It took me thirty one years to develop my first method to trap souls - not the same way as this, but good enough.” She looks Keris in the eye. “When you’re young - and the slave markets of Harbourhead are close by - it doesn’t seem like a hard choice. I was sure the knowledge I’d get, the improvements to crops and the master of life that needed would mean that slaves every seventeen years was an acceptable sacrifice. Then... after I saw the Chariot from Outside, after I realised what her master was and what he did - I realised how young and stupid I was.” She sighs. “If I lied to you, you’d realise. So, yes, before I saw what a demon prince really was, I provided her with slaves as her tithe. And I haven’t since.”

((Per + Pres to explain her case and frame it in a positive light as “no, I’ve changed”, 11 successes))

Once, then - maybe twice - with real people. A hundred and twenty years ago means that all of them are long-dead now. Humans don’t tend to last long in Hell. Keris gives another slow nod.

“You mentioned him before as the turning point, yes,” she murmurs. Malek’s story is actually settling some of her concerns, but she tries not to let her sympathy show - not until she’s heard everything, at any rate. “What did he do? I’ve only heard of him, and only vaguely at that.”

She’s trying to look neutral, but Keris can see a flicker of horror in her eyes. “A mighty servant of Hell like yourself has obviously seen the might of a demon prince unleashed,” she says. “I... was not well informed on the nature of the Chariot. I thought he would be a charioteer, not a great sky-beast bigger than the largest warship of the Realm. It is said he has ten thousand lesser demons living within him who swarm out to ravage the land when he enters the world. I... I would be surprised if the number were that low.”

Keris winces. She has not, in point of fact, seen the full might of a demon prince unleashed. But she has seen bits and pieces of the war between Ligier and Ululaya, and she’s seen the carnage left in the wake of the Silent Wind. She can imagine what it must have been like. “I’m surprised you survived,” she says honestly. “Was he defeated and banished, or did he stay until his hold on Creation slipped?”

“He took what he wanted, and then... he left. Because he had filled his belly, I can only assume. And I was alone in a dead town, with the... the trinket I thought to get by summoning him. A flying craft of Hell. I put two years of my life into working out how to beckon him forth, and another two waiting for the right conjugation of the stars.” Malek is staring through Keris. “It was only afterwards I found out that Lei Mei is his herald, who fools people into releasing him with endless promises and clever gifts to lead them on to calling her lord.”

The silence sits in the air as Keris studies the woman next to her. Maybe there is some morality in the melodramatic woman - there’s certainly regret; even after five times longer than Keris herself has been alive. Malek calls her younger self a fool, and if there’s still horror in her eyes now at the memory; how much worse must it have been at the time? It seems it’s nagging at the back of her mind all the time, Keris thinks. Maybe that’s why she spends all that time working on crops and the like, trying to make everything she’s done “worthwhile”.

((Keris thinks she has a 3 dot principle of “Make Up for Old Mistakes”))

A little more thought is enough to come to a decision.

“You made a mistake,” Keris tells her; voice gentle and firm. “You did a terrible thing - but you did so through ignorance, not malice. You were tricked and used by a demon far older than you, whose nature is to take advantage of the arrogance and greed of those like you were when you were young. And as soon as you saw what you’d done, you changed course, and you’ve been trying to make up for it and subvert her demand for souls ever since.”

She thinks this information might change Calesco’s opinion of the old woman - the knowledge of her guilt weighing on her and the way she’s been working to make up for her wrongs and find ways around selling people to Hell a counter to the awfulness of her past actions. Rathan... Rathan would weigh the intent of her crime more lightly than its consequences, and stack against it the malice and lies of the demon lord who snared an ambitious young woman in manipulations and lies.

And Keris thinks that maybe this is something Malek will respond more to a tempered judgement than a blanket writ of forgiveness. Honeyed words that were just what she wanted to hear have hurt her once - but a reassurance that doesn’t shy from the horror she did yet reaffirms that it wasn’t of her own design, might be trustworthy.

((Per+Presence to give, heh, a balm to her guilt that’s not complete forgiveness, partly because Keris doesn’t _want_ to just wash away what she did, and partly because she’s kind of guessing that Malek probably doesn’t want it washed away - or rather, wouldn’t trust a Hellish being who offered a completely clean slate since that’s the same beguiling tactic Lei Mei used.  
4+5+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {too often forgiving, impossibly high standards, thinks she is fair}=20. 11 sux.))

“So... does that mean...” She leaves the sentence hanging.

Keris smiles. “I haven’t come to a final decision yet, but I’m leaning a lot more in your favour than I was before we had this talk. I have a gift for you, Malek Qaja. And then perhaps we can trade knowledge - because I may know of a few exotic herbal drugs that you’ve never even heard of before.”

((She’ll give Malek that sculpted living-sapling with the relief of trees and plant life blending from the northeast to the southwest, and mention she’s been to both places to segue into sharing some Frozen Florist stuff - this is partly to get a gratitude-hook into Malek and also partly to honestly see how good Malek is at her plant-occultism focus and how much of an asset she’d be.))   
((Also it’s a way to look at her library.))   
((Okay, heh, contested Cog + Occult for PLANT KNOWLEDGE NERD-OFF to see if you can get into her books, good and otherwise. Keris has a 2 dice bonus from the gift. Malek is spending 8m on ExD - 15 successes on 22 dice.))   
((Lol. Lab roll, so Keris gets to use her full Cog! 4+5+3 Frozen Florist+2 stunt+2 bonus from gift+9 Kimmy ExD {impossibly high standards, brokering deals, talent for temptation}=25. Hah! _26 successes_ So many tens. _So many tens_. [ **10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10 10** 9 9 8 7 7 7 7 7 6 5 5 4 4 3 1 1]))

It’s a good thing Keris put so much effort into her gift. The sapling; potted neatly in a wooden box, is both stand and artpiece in one - the branches cradle a wide flat sheet of living wood on which she’s raised a beautiful relief of natural landscapes that blends from the whip-like trees of the northeast to the endless bamboo groves of the southwest; stained with natural plant dyes and even a good approximation of the mingled scents of the vistas it displays.

Malek is delighted by it. And she’s more delighted still when Keris describes how she resides down in the southwest; spinning beautiful stories about the bamboo groves and sargasso there, how she’d terraformed the Isle of Gulls into an inhabitable island and what floral wonders were to be found in the Middle-Land jungles of An Teng.

But it’s the northwest that really grabs her, because not only can Keris _describe_ the whip-trees and winter herbs up there; she can back up her flowery words with theory. Theory and _seed stock_ , collected by Sasi when she and Aiko visited Testolagh there and passed on to Keris at Calibration. The owlriders were more than happy to donate enough to their Mother Mortar that Keris can spare some for Malek to examine, and Keris’s brilliance and study has an answer for every question; delving deep into the complicated drug combinations they’d used on the previous generation of owlriders and spinning off into herbal genesis-alchemy as she frames the modifications and enhancements to the process she’d made to produce the new one.

((I think Malek is probably impressed. Keris has won some definite respect.))

“It seems the boy Ney wasn’t such a fool when he sent you to me,” Malek says more than a little reluctantly, as if it’s some great concession. “Hmm. I am getting more than a little weary of Taira. I think I need to travel some more. And some of the things you mention in the North East sound very interesting indeed. Come with me, I have something to show you.”

Keris follows, impressed herself with Malek’s expertise - she hadn’t been able to rival Keris’s own, but she’s still undoubtedly a brilliant mind. “If you’re interested in another patron, I’m based down in the southwest,” she says idly. “If your travels happen take you in that direction, there’s plenty to explore that I haven’t had a chance to lay eyes on yet.”

“Oh?” She leads Keris down stairs, down into the - ha ha - _roots_ of her flower manse. “Where? How far south?”

“South and west of An Teng by a few hundred miles, in the Anarchy. There’s not much Realm presence once you’re below An Teng - the pirate port of Saata is technically a satrapy, but in practice it’s just a family of Dragonblooded in charge who pay tithes to the Realm,” Keris explains. “And further south than that; there are whole islands that are wild and untamed. I’ve been exploring a little on Shuu Mua; which Saata is just off the coast of, and once you’re out of sight of the coast you could honestly believe there’d never been human settlements on it. And that’s within a day or two of one of the major centres of power down there.”

“Hmm.” Malek pauses, to tilt her head. “That sounds... promising. When I’m not chained to the wants of Lei Mei, I certainly would have a lot more time to travel. And I’m sure the naib could hardly protest if I was looking for crops that might thrive in these highlands.” Her meaning is entirely clear.

And then they’re down through stone doors, into an underlayer lit entirely by phosphorescent nodules growing on the roots that make up the ceiling. This must be the roots of the lotus blossom that grows out of the top of the building.

And in the central chamber, there are things hanging from the roots. They look a little like tubers - only they’re not really tubers. No, they’re sacs. Like amniotic sacs.

Entranced, Keris drifts over to them, closing her eyes and running super-sensitised fingers along them as she listens to the gurgles and sloshing of fluid within. She can... feel the babies in there. Only not quite babies. They’re already the size of toddlers, and there’s something that’s half umbilical cord and half vine coming out of - and going into - their navels. She can hear the pliable, wood-like bones - which must harden as they age - and she... she thinks what Malek has made is something like a beastman. Only a plant, not an animal.

((Mutation-wise, she thinks they have Short Gestation, Reduced Lifespan, and she’s pretty sure the lack of a childhood is why the most basic ones are “stupid”, to put it bluntly - they’re skipping the period in their life where they’d learn the most if they were normal human.))

“How long do they take to grow?” she asks, fascinated. “You were talking like there’s a difference between your soldiers and your assistants; do they use different seed-wombs? And... the ones that grow faster aren’t as human or intelligent?” She smiles in wonder. “I’ve seen hybridisation before - hells, I’ve _done_ radical hybridisation; with alchemy and in my own body - but this is a type I’ve never heard of.”

((Keris r going _full zanara_ right now))   
((... Taira seems to bring it out in her, lol.))

“Theoretically I could harvest these ones at three months growth,” Malek says clinically. “But they’d be infants then. Giving them an additional season of growth means they can walk and feed themselves when they’re plucked, which makes it easier for the others to care for them until they’re ready to serve. Soldiers - not truly soldiers, but ones that take two seasons to grow - train and care for them, overseen by three-season assistants. The assistants are fully human with only a few traces of their origins - they can’t be fast-grown without birth defects and a good number of mishaps. I have considered if I could make a four or five season variant with improvements - and Maidens bless me, an increased rate of inheriting my dragon blood - but so far Pardis has been my only prototype of a five season growth who’s survived to term. I believe the dragon’s hunger means most growths abort once the dragon blood gets too thick.”

Humming in understanding, Keris circles the chamber, looking at the tubers from all directions with interest. “How many seasons was Shermine?” she asks absently. “And she’s Water to your and Pardis’ Wood, isn’t she? That’s... surprising, given how saturated in Wood essence she must have been.”

“She was just an anomaly of the three-seasoners,” Malek says dismissively.

“Huh. Interesting,” Keris muses. Water and Wood are opposite poles, so it must have been one heck of an anomaly. “Well, shall we move to your library and have some tea? I think I’ve made my decision.”

“Oh, we were just passing through to my library. I keep it down here. The wood essence saturating the manse has certain... effects on paper I leave lying around,” Malek says, tossing back her dark green hair archly. “It came as quite a surprise. I had to start keeping my archives here to overcome this... how should I put it. This unplanned feature.”

The archive is not a library. Not in a conventional sense. But the walls are covered in countless flowers, and each petal is covered in text.

Unable to let that go without indulging her curiosity at least a little; Keris lets the sensitivity of her po fill her fingers again and strokes one across a petal, reading by touch. It is a very, very dry book written in Firetongue, detailing growth rates of wheat.

She must not have been lying when she said that the manse somehow ‘absorbed’ every book left lying around.

((Hee!))

Keris laughs, honestly delighted. Haneyl would adore this. And immediately start trying to copy it. In fact...

“Do you mind if I summon my familiar?” she asks. “He’ll enjoy this, and he’s a useful aide when it comes to research.”

“Summon?” Malek asks, shrugging floridly. “Well, I suppose, but that’ll be several hours from now. If you want we can come back.”

“No, no. He’s not in Hell; he’s... around somewhere, and he’ll come when I call,” Keris assures her, leaving out the fact that ‘around’ was more specifically ‘in the Swamp somewhere, probably arguing with Elly or Saji or both’ and that he could get in and out of said place by himself. “Rounen, I need you,” she adds, switching to Old Realm. “And I’m standing in a library, if you need some more incentive.”

There’s a short pause, and then turquoise flower petals billow out of the air just beside her, gathering together into a child-sized figure with eyes that are empty holes into an inner flame.

“Yes, mum?” Rounen asks, and then takes stock of the room he’s in. “Oooo!”

There’s a chuckle from Malek. “Interesting. Very interesting. You summoned a demon without the chains of the gods. And that lets you entirely ignore the limits of the Melan rituals. You are a funny thing... my lady,” she adds. “Though this demon breed is unfamiliar to me. From whom does it descend?”

Keris considers. Well, the fact that she can make her own First Circle demons isn’t much of a secret. Most of the Reclamation knows it can be done, and it breaks no laws.

“Me,” she says. “That, and my bond with him, are why I can call on him so easily. Rounen, this is-”

He’s already out of hair-reach, crouched next to a set of pale blue poppy-like flowers, reading avidly.

“- Malek Qaja, our host, who... you’re not listening, are you?” She sighs. “Fine, you can help after we’ve talked more.” She turns back to Malek. “Is there somewhere for us to sit and have drinks?”

It’s rather less lavish than her usual habits, but there’s a pair of seats in a nook in the wall they can use.

“No drinks, I’m afraid, although some of the mushrooms are edible. I have other less... comprehensive research places outside the manse, but down here is more secure and it is a place of power,” Malek explains, sprawling out on the stone like it’s a pile of cushions. Keris is a little amazed at her cat-like ability to be comfortable anywhere.

Keris shifts her hair to make her own berth as pleasant as possible - it’s harder now that there are sharp-edged feathers in her hair; they might not be metal but they can still cut like paper if the angle is right - and settles in. “Well then, Malek Qaja. I’ve decided to help you - because you recognise the mistakes you made in your youth and are trying to atone, because a demon who seeks to let something like the Chariot From Outside into Creation is not one I’m well-disposed to above and beyond my issue with the Whispering Pyre in general, and because you are, honestly, a genius who could be very helpful to me as an ally. You know Lei Mei better than I do. How would you suggest it be done? I’m guessing that if there were some great one-off cost you could pay to end your pact and be free from it, you’d have done so long ago unless it was too horrible to tolerate. Killing her would work, though it’s the blunt option that leaves all her other cults leaderless and maybe looking for revenge. Or maybe threatening her into letting you free?”

The Terrestrial lady looks at Keris, clearly weighing things up. “You don’t seem to care for her,” she observes. “And in the power games of Hell, I think you - or your allies - might be able to benefit if she were to die in Creation, with no one knowing the circumstances. If someone were to lure her into the world - someone who was clearly not working with some mysterious assassin, oh no, why, you could remove her and take her lands or things she values before her slaves and her lackeys realise she’s dead. Or maybe even claim her lands as your due for having vanquished her...”

Asarin flashes through Keris’s mind, and a little smile crosses her face. “I’d need to be able to contact such allies, all the way back in Hell,” she notes. “And sending Infallible Messengers to Hell loses me my familiar for ten days, which is rather a pain. If I had another spell to contact them, though, that sounds like it would be a very solid plan.”

“You could not... carry out whatever treacherous deeds I of course,” Malek rolls her eyes, “do not condone this coming new moon? Surely it would be easy for one as powerful as you, no?”

Keris grins. “On this end, yes. I’m all that would be needed. But I won’t be going back to Hell immediately, so if I want to benefit from her... unexpected absence; my allies would be the ones to claim her lands and valuables before word of her...” she rolls her own eyes mockingly, “obviously tragic and senseless demise spread. But I can’t summon those particular demon lords myself, and honestly I don’t need to - I just need to talk to them. Which is an art _I’ve_ never needed before... but I bet you have.”

“Oh, well, in that case, as an act of friendship - possibly even a mark of some alliance - I suppose I could teach you the emerald ritual that would let you call the psyche of a mighty demon into a prepared icon,” Malek says. “And because we are friends, I’ll be able to get you the version which I had to devise myself without the traps and lack of protection that the demon-wrought ones tend to have woven into them.” She flutters her eyelashes at Keris with the mocking air of a girlish faux-ingénue. “Isn’t that nice of me?”

“Very much so,” Keris concedes.

“So,” Rathan says later that night, sprawled out on three chairs with his feet up. Oula has found a file somewhere and is giving him a pedicure. “How did it go?”

“You left me with that _girl_ all afternoon,” Calesco hisses. “And I had to keep Kuha down despite the fact it was day or she’d have probably said yes to her constant attempts to get us to wear less clothing - and that would be a _really bad idea_.”

“At some point, you are going to have to deal with people you don’t like,” Keris points out to Calesco. “Think of it as practice, and let Kuha have a night after your birthday has passed. And I found out quite a lot, including that Malek Qaja isn’t as amoral as she seems at first glance.”

She relays her conversation with the woman and conclusions; noting the guilt and shame and determination to atone that still lingers as a constant presence in the back of her mind even after more than a century, and linking it to the plant-work she’s been doing for Malra; built on unpleasant foundations but done with the intention of being penance of sorts for what laid the first few roots down. Then she moves on to Lei Mei; the threat she represents as a herald of her Greater Self, the large number of cults she likely has given the priority she gave them in Malek’s payments, and the prayer-slaves that are probably what she wants souls for.

“... so I’m thinking Malek’s idea to Beckon her this new moon and stab her to death is a fairly good one, all things considered,” she finishes. “And I can contact Asarin with this invocation spell and tip her off about it ahead of time in return for her capturing all the prayer-slaves and treating them well and giving them their freedom when I get back to make arrangements for them. Asarin’s not interested in the slightest in having territory in Creation, so displacing Lei Mei’s lands in favour of hers means more demonic effort being kept in Hell and away from the people here.”

“Or maybe she was lying and you didn’t realise she was fooling you,” Calesco grumps.

Rathan sighs. “She has no debts to us and this will put her in _our_ debt,” he says. “Plus, Mama likes Asarin. If we do something nice for her, we’ll have allies in Hell. And of course we’ll help too with killing her. Especially Calesco.”

“Wait, wait?”

“We both know you can’t pass up the chance to kill a demon who’s taken countless slaves,” Rathan yawns. “So how about we just step over the boring bit where you pretend you don’t want to help? It’s too much effort.”

“She wasn’t lying - she knows that beings like me can sense truth and falsehood, and she’s not stupid enough to try and lie to my face,” Keris adds. “She keeps bees - if you offered to help her with one of her struggling hives, you could probably slip in a glance at her heart with your light if you wanted to be truly sure. You’d see regret there, and guilt, and shame.” She takes Calesco’s hand, squeezing lightly. “She’s _trying_ to be better. She might have started as a terrible person, and she may not ever wipe that slate fully clean, but she’s _trying_ to. That should count for something.”

“Hmmph. We’ll see,” Calesco says darkly. She cracks her knuckles. “I do approve of taking down the worst demon lords, though.” She flashes a smile at Keris. “If you did that more, you could take their belongings and maybe use their bodies for something. It might be... uh, profitable for you to take out the really horrible demon lords.”

“Mum, she’s making fun of Hanny,” Vali complains in Keris’ head.

“I’ll consider it,” Keris says dryly. “But before that, we’ll plan your birthday. I asked Malek if she had any stocks of magical wood that would be appropriate for a bow - I suggested it might convince you to help take out Lei Mei rather than letting on it was a birthday gift. She had some hardwoods that were grown in a place that echoed the star’s light - I thought they might be the perfect vessel for yours. I’d just need to do the shaping - and you’d need to tell me what kind of bow you want, of course,” Keris adds. 

There’s a lot of preparation involved for the plan. And Keris finds herself _super_ hoping that Ney doesn’t choose that day, of all days, to show up.

... it would totally be like him.

But in the meantime of preparing her excuses if he happens to show his face (grr), she has other things to do - both for the plan and for Calesco’s birthday.

((Can Keris tap Pardis for help making the bow, since she’s not done bowcrafting before?))   
((Per + Pres to coax the girl into helping, I’m sure - sigh - I don’t need to tell you effective ways to hit her in the Principles.))   
((lol))

Her daughter’s main present won’t be much of a surprise, alas, because Calesco is helping her craft the longbow as someone who knows a lot more about archery than Keris does. As, hopefully, will be Pardis, whose boasting over the breakfast table had included woodwork and archery. Keris tracks her down in one of the gardens and sits next to her with a friendly smile.

“I hear you’ve been making friends with Calesco,” she greets. “She takes a while to warm up to people, but if you’re interested I actually have a project in mind as a gift for her. Your mother has given me a stock of unusual Pershwan star-wood in return for the art-piece I gifted her - it’s meant to be very difficult to work with - and I’m going to turn it into a longbow for Calesco to use. Now, _I_ haven’t made a bow before, but I hear you’re an expert at just about anything you turn your hand to.”

((Hitting her in the “showing off with this hard-to-work-with rare wood”, “impressing mother by making something as cool as what she got”, “making friends with Calesco” and “having her ego stroked” for a brutal quadruple-attack. 4+5+3 Exotic Beauty+2 stunt+4 Kimmy ExD {talent for temptation, impossibly high standards, endlessly giving} x2 Hidden Depths Temptress=18. Hahaha, 14x2=28 sux. Pardis is _very eager indeed_ to help.))

Keris now has one very, _very_ enthusiastic Dragonblooded girl who wants to make the best present possible for the mysterious newcomer-girl who’s going to be her best friend and they’re going to do everything together and she can’t wait to get to know her better and of course she’d be picked because she’s the best and-

“Mother,” Calesco says after the first day, when Keris is holding an icepack to her aching ears, “you succeeded too well.”

“I mean,” she says defensively, “she _is_ very skilled. It’ll be a really good bow. Argh, ash and _rot_ , I think my ears are ringing. Fine, you might have a point. You can...” she sighs morosely, “spend some time trying out a bunch of different bows to find the one you like best, and I’ll keep her occupied with planning our cuts and varnishes.”

“Aren’t you going to vanish off with the old hag to study sorcery?” Calesco says spitefully. “Oh, can Rathan help? He deserves to share in this pain.”

“I like her,” Zanara says sniffily in Keris’ head, in their boy voice. “Yes, she talks a lot, but so does Eko. When she can talk, that is. And she really said some interesting things about wood and how to shape it.”

“... Rathan might calm her down a bit, at least,” Keris agrees. “And Oula will be another mysterious foreign girl for her to talk to. Who is not you or me. As for the sorcery; it’s going to be very useful in the future, for you as well as me. Now, let’s talk food. I’m not Haneyl, but I can probably prepare most of your favourites for your big day.”

Calesco has a list. And in her head, Zanara also has a list - which is to say instructions for Keris to demand Calesco say what she wants from Eko, Vali and Zanara so they can put some time into something.

((What does Calesco want from her siblings? You can answer IC as Calesco here.))

“I don’t want any ribbons or sugary things from Eko,” she says quickly. “Or for her to run around or kill anything. No...” She frowns; bow-lips pursing in a frown not so far from Keris’s own. “She can put her intelligence to use and take a look at my beehives - without stealing from them. My mezkeruby are usually the only ones who can tend them, but she’s smart enough to figure out how they work in an afternoon, and she can think up some improvements to make them work better.”

There’s the noise of something breaking as Eko vibrates with happiness. Oh, oh, anything for her darling little sister, she agrees with a hair flick. She’ll design the best beehives! They’ll make all the bees... be-have!

Keris relays this to the silent impressions of inner glee and enthusiasm and an eyeroll from the darling little sister in question, who continues pacing and thinking. “Vali... does he still have those black rocks with my light caught in them?” she asks. “If he does, can you ask him to find something he can pack round them to filter it softer and less painful? Like... cliffhopper wool dipped in my tar or something, I don’t know. But if we can get those, it’ll mean we can have lamps in the Meadows that don’t hurt to look at and which we don’t have to feed all the time to stop them eating the lamp-metal.”

“Yep!” Vali says happily. “I can make lights easily!”

“And Zanara...” Calesco frowns, seemingly stumped. Keris thinks back to the last two requests and notes the pattern - she’s asking for things that will make _her_ happy, yes, but which will also benefit the Meadows as a whole and all her subjects. Zanara could no doubt make something beautiful for Calesco, but it would be just for her.

“Quite a few bits of the Old City flew into the Cloud Wall,” she prompts gently. “And Pekhijira gets on better with Rathan and Zanara.”

Calesco smiles at that. “Yes,” she says happily. “That’s a good idea, mother. If Zanara can get the serpent to cough up some bit of the old Library, that would be a good present.” She glances at her only present sibling. “And if Rathan wants to give me a present _late_ , he can lend his efforts as well when he gets back,” she adds.

“I’m just going to point out, you got me a cake for my birthday. It was sickeningly sweet,” Rathan says back. “So I’ll pay that back.”

((heh))

The morning of the twenty-seventh dawns clear and bright. Keris hardly slept the night before, trying to get things ready and keep up with her study of sorcery here.

Despite her tiredness, she’s ready and waiting outside Calesco’s room with a sleepy-but-content Kali and Ogin to give her baby girl a proper birthday welcome to celebrate her first year of life.

Keris is feeling very lucky that Calesco’s, uh, other mother hasn’t shown up. Yet. Cross her fingers that she won’t.

To Keris’ mild disappointment, it’s Kuha who opens the door. “Calesco’s still asleep right now,” she says. “She, uh, well, I said she could have all of today, but she’s very tired. I mean, she was up all night and...” Kuha trails away. “Because she was so excited about her birthday,” Kuha adds, not entirely convincingly.

“...” says Keris.

“And you were dreaming of having very sweet cake and tea full of honey with her, and normal birthday things like that,” she says determinedly, choosing to forget any implication otherwise. “Right?”

Kuha quails in the face of Keris’ intent. “Yes, Kerishyra, I was showing her my homeland,” she says dutifully. “Although Calesco has been saying she can’t wait to show off how much she’s grown up since she started living in here. She thinks she’s nearly as old as Rathan. Just, uh,” she lowers her voice, “much less tall. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“... yeah, well, so are you and I,” Keris shrugs. “We’re short, but we can also dent steel by kicking it hard. Height doesn’t matter that much.” She purses her lips, beckoning Kuha closer and examining her tattoos quickly. “While Calesco is asleep; how are _you_ doing?” she asks seriously. “I know we started by saying you’d split days and nights, but she’s not been holding to that exactly. Are you finding it uncomfortable?”

Kuha shrugs. “I’ve been sleeping a lot, and she always gives me nice dreams when I do that,” she says. She grins cheekily, much more herself. “Plus, I’d be complaining more if we were somewhere like Terema, but this stone house isn’t as fun as yours and Rathan got way less fun when Oula showed up. She gets very catty when I flirt with him.”

“... catty as in mean comments, or catty as in trying to stab you? Because I taught her the spear just like you,” Keris points out. “And she’s very possessive of him. You might want to find other people to flirt with.” She pauses. “Who aren’t any of my children. At least in front of me,” she adds pleadingly.

Kuha grins. “He was only fun when he blushed. It was mega cute. Now he thinks he knows everything. Another reason I’ve been sleeping a lot.”

Rolling her eyes, Keris bats her lightly on the head. “Very funny. Alright, if Calesco won’t be waking up until - sundown, if you get the day? Then you can help me set up her celebration. And also indulge me with some sparring if we have some free time. We can rope in Oula as well; make it a three-sided match.” She grins. “But only if we have time. First priority is Calesco having a good time.”

“I’ll let her out when she wakes up,” Kuha says.

Keris sets to work getting things ready for the party. Since Calesco isn’t one for much gaudy spectacle the way Haneyl is; she’s planning a musical performance - a tercet that Calesco and Rathan can join in with for some family music time - a wide selection of cakes and foods, some present-giving, reflection on the good things that have been done over the year and a general attitude of hugs and kisses and quiet celebration.

That makes it easier to prepare for - she checks up on Calesco’s girls, who are in the last stages of recovery - still some sore areas, but frequent check-ups from Keris have worked wonders for their healing process. The music only needs minimal preparation, since there’ll inevitably be some improvisation anyway, and the honey-cakes and sweets are, if not quite at the level that Haneyl can churn out, at least what she’d deal acceptable.

Pardis has demanded that she be allowed to attend since she helped make the bow that will be Calesco’s main present, but at least Keris can use the cover of a quiet celebration to stop her being too... Pardis. And with her there it’ll almost be like Haneyl is present; albeit with slightly less fire and sniping at Rathan.

((Cog + Expression for DRAMATIC PARTY PLANNING FU, trying to beat Calesco’s MDV. :p))   
((Hee. 4+5+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {endlessly giving, patronage and kindness are real, beauty and charm}+4 Compassion channel=24. 13 successes.))

Pardis is quite overcome with amazement at the _utterly amazing and wicked party_ \- which in Keris’ eyes is really doing the best with what she has - and vanishes off, to return dragging her older sister. Literally dragging her.

“I don’t...”

“Come on, come on, you don’t have any fun at all and you’re so so boring with how you spend all your time doing paperwork and stuff for mother so you need to show up so you have some fun and also so you’re being nice to the guests which is the diplomatic and nice thing to do,” Pardis says, without drawing breath. Impressive lung capacity there. She then vanishes off again.

Shermine is left standing there, her dark green hair harshly cut, and her green eyes - now Keris sees her in the natural light - much more turquoise than everyone else on the estate. She looks vaguely confused.

“Do people have that expression a lot around her?” Keris asks lightly. Shermine hasn’t been particularly trusting of her so far, and a friendly civility outside a formal situation might make her warm up a bit. “I could believe it, honestly. We’re having a celebration for Calesco’s birthday, if she didn’t explain. Music and food, mostly.”

“Oh. I see.” Shermine isn’t particularly expressive. She sits down and recovers a small brown-bound book from a pocket. “Very well. Carry on.”

((Remind me how old Shermine is? As far as Keris can tell; roughly.))   
((She’s certainly younger than her mother by quite a long way, but she’s mature. Reaction + Lore to evaluate her age based on what Keris knows of DBs.))   
((5+2+2 Coadj=9. 3 sux.))   
((Keris estimates she’s less than a century, and almost certainly less than 50, but probably above 30.))

Keris hides a smile. It’s the kind of reaction Calesco might have at someone else’s party. Maybe she should try to get the two of them talking - about books, maybe, or annoyingly energetic sisters. That’s a topic they could both probably say a lot about, and on which they likely share feelings.

“Enjoy the music,” she says. “And feel free to take some food if you’re hungry.”

Shermine bows her head. “Thank you,” she says, simply. 

Keris is distracted by Kali making a very determined attempt to escape, slipping her human form and wriggling loose as a tiger cub - and while she’s focussed on that, Ogin goes limp and almost boneless and slides from her grip, toddling on his tails towards the nearest stream he can find.

It takes her some time to get them under control, and she’s managed to get Ogin dressed again by the time she realises Malek is here, one elegant hand over her mouth covering her laughter.

“If you try to tell me Pardis wasn’t at least as bad in her first few years, I will call you a liar,” she huffs. “No, Kali... Kali, sweetheart, look. See? Gnaw on the shiny thing. There, yes, good girl.” With her daughter occupied by a vaguely spoon-shaped piece of vitriol-silver that will be nice and cool against her developing teeth, Keris assesses Malek again. The old Wood-aspect has been around the twins a fair amount, and Keris is fairly sure that her measures to downplay their inhumanities hadn’t been completely effective at hiding them, but this is the first time she’s seen them completely out of the slings that Keris keeps them against her chest in or outside the crib and not tucked under a blanket.

“I notice your daughter is currently a six-legged tiger,” Malek observes, “and your son might not have legs in among all those tails. That must have been a fun birth.” She’s so conversational here that it’s almost suspicious. No one is that jaded, are they?

“Kali was human when she came out, I think,” Keris says warily. “Or at least I’m told so. I wasn’t very lucid at the time. They, ah... usually get more of a reaction than that, when people see them.” Her hair shifts uneasily, unsure whether to be protective, defensive or neither.

Malek glances over at her daughters almost reflexively. “I’ve known a lot of people whose children have had, ah, unconventional parentage,” she says. “I’d be quite the hypocrite if I were to act as if I was repulsed by whoever your choice of father was or what means you chose to produce them. Although I would recommend you avoid birth in future. It just seems awfully painful and inconvenient, when sorceresses such as us have other paths.”

“It...” Keris starts, and considers the relative experiences of the twins’ birth against Pardis’. “... alright, you might have a point there. I’m not planning on doing it again in the near future, certainly. At least not the birth part,” she adds absently, her plans for Kerisa springing to mind. She needs to think about how to broach that subject to the little ghost. Maybe telling her about Yamal, to ease her into the idea?

“Well, if you don’t have your own pathway, neomah are certainly within your capacity,” Malek says conversationally. “On the other hand, you’d always have to be careful with creatures of that ilk. I stopped using them after I found out about the plans a demon-cult had to replace a prince with a bastard child who’d been made after the old prince had entertained one of those demons.”

“Mmm. Some of their creations can go... wrong, though,” Keris says, still half in her head. “Especially the complicated ones - and it’s never easy to spot until they’re a few years old.”

((Heh. Keris - having done a lot of genesis alchemy with a neomah assistant and being high occult on top of that - is one of the few who really knows much about that.))

“Yes, quite so,” Malek agrees. “Like I said, I don’t touch them anymore. Even if I wanted a courtesan, there are other choices.”

“Mm. Well, I hope you enjoy the music,” Keris says. “I’m not sure when we’ll be starting that - whenever Calesco feels like it, probably - but you’re welcome to listen. It’ll be worth the time. And thank you for the wood-stock; it’s turned out beautifully.”

“Well, I am always happy to help one such as her - as long as they’re a friend,” she says.

Listening up, Keris can hear Calesco’s footsteps. She thinks it’s Calesco, at least. She moves differently to Kuha. She’s softer, and she stalks - like a big cat.

And sure enough, Calesco makes her big entrance. Surprisingly, she’s changed. She’s not wearing her common garment - she’s shifted her form into something that almost looks like one of Haneyl’s formal robes in the Realm style, though of course, it’s in black and deep purple. Today she’s wearing her gift from her other mother as a crimson sash keeping her kimono closed.

She stands awkwardly at the door.

Keris springs into action, hurrying over to take Calesco’s hands with a big smile. “Happy birthday, darling,” she says softly, offering an embrace. “You look beautiful. We’ve got food, music, presents and good deeds remembrance, in whatever order you want.”

“Oh. Okay.” Calesco blinks. “I... haven’t done this before,” she says, sounding very young and vulnerable.

“I know. But it’s your special day, and there’s no wrong way to do it. Just try to enjoy yourself, okay? How about we start with some honey-cake?”

“That would be nice,” Calesco says. 

Settling in, she makes sure to sit next to Keris and reluctantly sits next to Rathan because Rathan stops Pardis sitting next to her. It’s not as bright as it was earlier and it’s gloomy, but maybe Calesco prefers that weather.

Keris does her best to centre the event around her daughter; plying her with treats and going over some of the good deeds she’s done - which entails a bit of talking around what exactly she saved the girls _from_ and who exactly she was teaching, but it still puts a subtle glow on her cheeks. Or maybe that’s the sweet muffins. Gods, it’s a good thing they aren’t having this party in the Meadows, because with this much sugar at the table they’d have been mobbed by szelkeruby by now.

And then it’s time for the music, and Keris gets to use an actual physical harp so as not to give the game away too easily to Shermine or Pardis; motioning Rathan to come and join her and telling Calesco she can sing or simply enjoy the performance as she wishes.

((Per+Expression: 4+5+3 Time-Strung Harpist+1 bonus {reinforce a single target’s mood or nature}+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {beauty, charm, impossibly high standards}=24. 14 sux, lol. A performance to make men weep.))

Calesco listens to the first song. For the second, though, she joins, stepping forwards to the front of the instruments. 

And then she starts to sing along - a wordless song that rises into the very heights along with the harp. She sings a song that’s somehow ancient despite her youth, something far more archaic than she is.

There are no words, but there don’t need to be. Calesco is also Adorjan’s daughter, and just like her sister she can communicate without talking. And in this song, Keris understands fully her condemnation of the world, but also her hope that things could be different from how they are now.

((9 successes on Per + Expression))   
((Oh, Calesco.))

Keris draws her into an embrace and kisses her forehead as the last notes peter off; leaving utter silence behind. Even the wind has died down; perhaps to listen or maybe out of sympathy and shame. Cradling her daughter in her arms for a moment longer, Keris glances sideways to see how their hosts have taken the performance. Pardis is, of course, clapping - tears streaming down her face. Her older sister is looking up from her book with a faint frown on her face, though she also looks impressed. And Malek herself...

... Malek is hiding her feelings. Keris is sure of that. Her jaded, neutral expression clearly must be covering something up, but Keris can’t see past it.

“Time for presents, then,” Keris whispers, and lets Calesco go. Stepping back, she raises her voice. “I know this won’t be much of a surprise to you since you were involved in its making, but you haven’t seen the finished product.” Over Calesco’s shoulder she sees Pardis bounce up and run off to get a long thin object wrapped in purple cloth. “A brilliant archer deserves a really good bow,” Keris continues, “and I think this one fits the bill - and might become even better in time.”

((Heh. I bet Pardis has tried to draw it and gone “wtf”))   
((And had to be reassured that no, it’s not come out wrong; that’s the right draw weight.))

Keris’ ears are sharp enough to hear Rathan’s mumbled “I didn’t get a present like this.” He’s probably jealous. It’d be worse if Haneyl was here, because she hates other people getting presents when she’s not with all the ire that Keris remembers from the streets when she saw other children get bought food by indulgent parents when she was starving.

Calesco gives Keris a glance that suggests she understands rather more of that then Keris wanted, then carefully unfolds the bow. It’s a huge weapon even by the standards of a man - for Calesco’ it’s taller than she is. But she handles it easily, and it sits well in her hand.

But of course, it’s not quite done yet. It needs a string, a string long enough for a bow this size and potent enough to take the draw. And they hadn’t found one that would last in the long term. Keris had even tried her own hair corded into a rope, but a strand of hair had snapped in every one of the tests; weakening it over time. 

Calesco had said she had a solution, and told Keris to stop trying to string it.

Here and now, with the bow on her lap, Calesco removes her sash, stretching it between her fingers until the fabric is a long, thin crimson cord. With both hands and her hair, Calesco strains to bend the bow, and with her free hair strands she hooks her sash-string over the ends, tying it off neatly.

“Now it’s done,” she says, rising elegantly. She takes an arrow from the quiver Keris has also given her - a monstrous thing in its own right, more like a small spear than an arrow - and hefts the bow into positon. With a grunt of effort, she pulls it back - and as she does, Keris hears the wind that blows over the point go silent and sees red streaming off its point.

Calesco sights on her target, a pile of rubble left lying there by the grounds staff who’ve been clearing some land. 

She looses.

At the end of the arrow's too-fast-to-see flight, the top half of the rubble is... gone. Like a boiled egg that's had its top sliced off with a knife. And as Keris watches, the ornamental wall behind it slides away, the same clean slice having cut it in half. Behind it, three trees topple.

“It is a bow of my mother,” Calesco says sadly. “It is not her way to merely give me an emissary’s protection.”

((...))   
((holy shit))   
((Of course, this means she can only use her true bow when she puts aside her protection as Keris’ herald.))   
((Yes, heh. Which is a brilliant design.))   
((Sigh. There’s a whisper of Keris’s voice every time it fires, because it’s speaking with her tongue.))   
((It is a sibling weapon to Eko’s knife. Eko’s knife lefts her go wherever she wants and slice through everything. Calesco’s emissary protection lets her go wherever she wants and slice through anything.))

Keris - who better than any of the other onlookers had _heard_ the arrow cut through the air with a whisper of her own voice and an echo of Adorjan’s laughter - stares wide-eyed at the rubble, and then back to the bow, and then back to the rubble again. Her mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“I... _want one_ ,” Pardis said. Her voice sounds very loud in the silence.

“You know, someone’s going to have to clean that up and replace the wall and the trees or else the geomancy will be damaged,” Shermine begins. “And another thing...”

“Daughter, hush.” Keris can clearly see the fascination - and the delight - on Malek’s face. “I will be, ah, fascinated to see more of that weapon in use. Say, tomorrow?”

Her real question is nearly as clear as it would be if it was in Ekoese.

“Yes,” Keris whispers, still shaken. “Tomorrow.”

The rest of the party is somewhat muted in the aftermath, and Keris tries to relax as best she can. It’s only afterwards that she can have a look at what Calesco has done to herself - and she finds her daughter has pulled a muscle in her shoulder. 

“I... still need to grow into it a bit,” Calesco admits. “Adorjan intended this all along, because that’s how she sees communication - a spear hefted at another. I am your messenger, so to her eyes I must be an archer. And I am.”

Keris tuts, fretting over her and tending to her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to help tomorrow, then? I’ll probably be enough on my own, and I don’t want you shooting if you’ll hurt yourself doing it.”

Calesco rolls her eyes. “Come on, mama,” she says contemptuously. “You know as well as I do that your plan will be to approach her with a smiling face and poison her so you don’t have to fight anywhere near fair. You’ll want me on the roof with a bow in case she tries to run for it, because you need to secure the killing bow.”

Keris sighs. “Fine, yes. But only if she manages to flee! And even then, only if I can’t pursue her for some reason!”

“Mama.” Calesco looks her straight in the eye. “I don’t want to hurt Kuha’s body either. She’s... she’s a close friend.”

“... okay,” agrees Keris, settling. Yes; she can trust Calesco to be cautious on those grounds. Even if she has to carefully not think about the last part in the same way she’s trying to avoid the question of how far ahead Adorjan had been planning when she’d cut out Keris’s tongue. “Okay. I trust you.”

“Now, I’ll be fine. I’m just going to take a hot bath and rest my arm, and if it isn’t feeling better by the morning you can see to it with your roots.” Calesco yawns. “It’s strange. I don’t feel any different having had a birthday. But...” she trails off, “as one more present, you need to go spend more time with Kerisa. I... I might not like ghosts, but she’s just so sad and I think she might be getting distraught about how we’re not moving around and you - for a very good reason - are keeping her away from Malek. She needs some attention too.”

Keris smiles. “I was planning to talk to her soon anyway,” she says. “I’ll go and do it now. Enjoy your bath, sweetheart.”

Calesco tells her mother farewell, and Keris heads down to the small guest room where she’s been hiding Kerisa’s bones.

The sun’s just setting, and Kerisa is a sleepy-head ghost, yawning as she rolls out of her bones.

“Hello Kerisa,” Keris says, ambushing her early and settling down in front of her with Kali and Ogin in her lap. “I’d like to tell you a story, is that okay? It’s about Kali and Ogin’s papas, and it might interest you, because both of them died and... sort of, in a way, came back and found the places and people they’d once loved.”

“Do you think they might know how to find my parents?” Kerisa says hopefully, her face behind her mask creasing up.

“They both passed on again, permanently,” Keris says apologetically. “But both of them found what _they_ had once loved, like you’re trying to. So it might help you to hear the story of how they did it.”

“Tell me, tell me,” Kerisa begs. She snuffles around to sit beside Keris, playing with one of Ogin’s tails with her rotting hands.

“Okay,” Keris says. “Okay. So.”

She strokes Kali’s head. Her little tigress is currently being a hawk-chick, and peeps at her. Maybe she can tell she’s being talked about.

“This is the story of Kali’s father,” Keris says. “Once upon a time, there lived a man whose name was Yamal. He was a firefighter, and one day there was a terrible fire in a tall tower building. As he was scaling the wall to rescue the little children stuck up high, he took the Second Breath...”

She continues, charting the rough course of Yamal’s life in terms a five-year old can follow; phrasing it so that Yamal might have been a Dragonblooded rather than a Solar. She explains how he fell in love with another Exalt and had children with her, and how the two had ended up on opposite sides of a terrible war, and that his wife had held to her duty even though she loved him. She tells how he’d rushed to his home, where he knew she would be with their children, and how he had been ambushed in a cunning trap fit for a hero on the way.

“He died,” she says softly. “But that wasn’t the end. He’d promised to go to his home, and even death wouldn’t stop him. But instead of lingering as a ghost, he was reborn, and the girl he was reborn as was drawn to his home in Nexus - Hollow - just as he’d promised to. And,” she adds, before Kerisa can start to look distressed at the topic of Lethe resurfacing, “the girl he was reborn as _remembered_. He’d been so determined and so strong-willed that he’d found a way to be reborn - so the sun and moon wouldn’t hurt him - without forgetting who he was. She wasn’t _exactly_ the same as he had been, but the important bits were - she remembered the promise he’d made, and the things he cared about, and she loved a lot of the same things he’d loved and agreed with most of his beliefs.” Yamal had loved to run, and he’d cared about mortals and those weaker than him; clinging to them as anchors instead of becoming one of the monsters. Keris definitely echoes her past self in that.

Kerisa looks at her judgementally. “Are you making that up?” she demands.

“No, sweetie,” Keris says.

“Well,” Kerisa says with the triumphal tone of someone who’s been a small child for centuries, “then why does no one I know remember who they were?”

“Because Yamal used a special way of being reborn,” Keris explains. “And because he was very, very strong-willed. Most people go through Lethe, and you can’t stop that way of rebirth from washing your soul clean. But the special method Yamal used; that didn’t scour away who he was. Very, very few people know that way. I only know three people who’ve done it.”

((Keris is emphasising that reborn-Yamal didn’t have to be scared of the sun and moon, that the special method and his strong will - which she’s noted in Kerisa - were part of it, and that he was still essentially the same person in the important ways and still remembered his promise. She, uh. Also may unintentionally be mimicking a Shogunate romance story with all the conflict of love and duty stuff that’s literally part of Yamal’s actual story, lol.))

“A... special way?” There’s a faint, painful note of hope in Kerisa’s voice.

Keris nods. “A special way. And do you want to know the end of the story? The name of the girl Yamal became, who remembers who she was and how he did it?”

“Uh huh! Uh huh!”

Keris winks.

“Her name is Keris.”

((... Keris, stop challenging Malek on melodramatic Extra.))

That just produces a sharp intake of breath. “No way! You’re making that up!”

“Yamal’s wife - _my_ wife - was called Arumoh,” Keris says softly. “She had violet eyes and she laughed rarely, but beautifully. He died in Hollow, and I saw his tomb myself and I remembered how he’d gotten there. I was a hero for scaling that tower and rescuing the children, but I always regretted that I wasn’t fast enough to save all of them, even with the Second Breath. I’m telling the truth, Kerisa, I promise.”

Kerisa clings onto Keris’ arm. “You... you really can remember who you were?” Kerisa is awed. “The priest at school said that we all used to be someone else. But people don’t remember it. But you can! How?”

“My soul went straight from Yamal to me - not a possession like some ghosts can do, but settling properly into a newborn as a purified soul without going through Lethe first,” Keris tells her. “It’s not an easy thing to do, so it’s best done with help. And you have to grow up again, which is a pain, and it takes a while to start remembering. But it works.”

She strokes Kerisa’s hair. “Do you want to be alive again, Kerisa? Using this way, instead of going through Lethe and forgetting?”

“But my parents said they’d come back and find me. They _promised_. They can’t have left me alone! They can’t have!” Kerisa protests. “Parents aren’t... they can’t...”

“I know, I know,” Keris soothes. “But you could still look for them, when you remember. Parents should love their children no matter what.” There’s a sick twist of guilt in her stomach for playing on the little girl’s obsession like this - but isn’t it crueller to let her endlessly search for a couple she’ll never find? At least if restored to life she might have enough reason to accept that they’re gone.

“You wouldn’t have to hide from the sun and moon, either,” she adds. “But it’s up to you.”

Kerisa’s hands go to her face. To her mask. “You... I could take this off?” she says, a hitch in her voice.

“You could,” Keris confirms. “You would. You’d be flesh and blood again, with a heartbeat and a way to touch the world again and wander beyond your bones.”

“I didn’t always have to wear this,” Kerisa whispers. “There were still other kids around when... when we noticed our faces were starting to go manky and icky. Oniro learned how to change how we looked so he made masks from our faces for us. But he... he gave up. He vanished. So it was the only bit he covered up. And my hands and everything else went like my face was.” She looks up at Keris. “I don’t like how I look,” she says, shoulders hunched over.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Keris says gently. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry you had to die at all. And I think I can help you, if you want. So.”

She leans down, rearranging Ogin to put her face on Kerisa’s eye level. “Do you want to be alive again?” she repeats, as softly and reassuringly as she can.

“If... if I can still find my parents? If I can remember that I need to find them? Yes!” She sniffles.

“You understand it won’t be easy?” Keris confirms. “You’ll have to grow up again - and you’ll need someone to take care of you while you were a baby. Which would probably be me.” She strokes Kerisa’s hair. “I’d never dream of replacing your parents. They’re your mummy and daddy. But I have two mamas, and a papa, and a...” hesitating, Keris considers exactly what relation she has to Lilunu, who placed her third soul into Dulmea for her second birth. “... another sort-of parent, too. The second pair don’t make the first matter any less.”

“Well, of course you would,” Kerisa says firmly. “You said you remembered who you were, so of course you have extra parents! So would I!”

Keris considers correcting her on that score, but decides it’s not worth the effort. “Alright then,” she says, and draws Kerisa into a cuddle. “Once we’re finished here in Taira, if you haven’t found your parents by then, that’s what we’ll do.”

“We still need to look,” she insists.

“Of course,” Keris says. “We’ll be setting off again soon, probably within the next couple of weeks, so you’ll be able to search some more towns and villages.”

“Good!” Keris sounds like she’s pouting. “It’s so horrible when they scream at me when I show up with Rounen and ask women if they’re my mummy! And none of them ever are!”

“... yes,” says Keris, her artist’s mind conjuring a picture of such a scene despite the rest of her brain trying to stop it. “That’s, um. Very rude of them. They should be nicer.”

Makers, she hopes Ney doesn’t find out about that while he’s looking for her father. It would be really embarrassing. And he’d be an asshole about it.


	9. Chapter 9

The new moon will be tonight. Malek is preparing her ritual equipment. Keris is for her part using this time to commune with Dulmea, and run over the details of the plan.

“So, child,” Dulmea says calmly, sipping her tea as she looks out the window of her tower to the Ruin, where it is raining blood for some reason. “I think we have hashed things out mostly, but tell me again what your plan will be for tonight, so it is straight in your mind.”

“Right,” says Keris. They’ve been throwing out possibilities and crossing off ideas all night, narrowing down their options, so all that’s left is putting them together.

“Malek will Beckon her,” she starts. “I’m not sure what she’s promising to get Lei Mei to show up this time, but she’s assured me it’ll get her attention. I’ll have my caste mark flaring when she arrives, so she’ll recognise me as a Princess even if she doesn’t from the Althing. I’ll play along with whatever Malek says long enough to get up close to her and draw her into a hug or something. That’ll be when I poison her. Non-lethal, but painful - painful enough she won’t be distracted.”

“And if she is proof against the toxins of the Great Mother?” Dulmea asks calmly. Keris nods.

“Then I’ve still got her pinned. From what Malek’s said, she’s not a fighter, and I only need to get within three yards or so to grab her with my hair and hold her down. Poison is the easiest way to knock her out, but I can choke her to sleep and pin her to the ground if I have to. Spirits don’t bleed like mortals, so I can impale her to something without worrying she’ll die before I can carve her heart out.”

Another Dulmea-Chord enters to refresh the tea, adding a third layer to the music they’re playing. “Should she escape your grapple regardless of your efforts...”

“I’m faster, and Calesco will shoot her if she’s getting away somehow,” Keris says firmly. “She’ll be up on the roof with the twins and Cissidy, in case things really go to hell and they need to be gotten out of range fast.”

“Calesco’s arrows are far from non-lethal, child,” Dulmea points out, to Keris’s shrug.

“If things have gotten that bad, carving her heart out isn’t really in the cards anymore. And then once I’ve done it, I’ll call on Asarin’s image with Malek’s help to tell her about the opportunity.”

“Mmm. Yes.” Dulmea sighs, turning her back to Keris as she rises gracefully. “I would be cautious around her. I do not trust Lady Malek Qaja, child,” she says, hair knotted behind her back. “I would not trust her even as far as you can throw her. Without effort. And yet I believe she can be useful.”

“She’s out for her own ends,” Keris agrees. “But I’m pretty sure she’s being truthful about her regrets, even if she might be exaggerating them a bit. And I can’t trust her to be loyal to me, but I can probably trust that she’ll act pretty predictably in what she values.” She huffs a dark laugh. “And she’s already an infernalist, so I don’t need to dance around that. Someone I can be blunt with and tell exactly what I want them doing and why is useful.”

“I think she is more like a demon lord than a mortal in many ways,” Dulmea observes. “She thinks on the same scale as a demon lord - not the children, I note, but the lords of Hell. She is driven by her lust for knowledge and her obsession with plants. In many ways, it might be wiser to think of her as being like your Lelabet or Asarin, than some mortal being.”

Keris scrunches her nose. “She’s still an Exalt,” she says. “I’m not going to let myself forget that. Our kind are really good at defying expectations. But yeah, as long as I remember she’s really dangerous, getting her on-side like this is a good move. And if it means that demon prince she talked about comes to Creation a bit less often; all the better.”

“I think it is vital that this Lei Mei not be allowed to escape your assassination. She will likely try to flee back to Malfeas if she realises she is betrayed - you cannot permit this. And-” 

But whatever Dulmea was about to say is lost in the great chime and outburst of a thousand choral voices that drowns out even her music. She flickers, vanishes, and reappears only when the noise dies down.

Keris, for her part, falls out of her seat with her hair over her ears. “What the hell-” she yells; barely able to hear herself over the ringing in her ears. “What... argh, fuck, fuck... that? My ears-”

“It was over from the Ruin, or maybe the Spires,” Dulmea snaps, her face a mask of tranquillity. “Oh, when I get my hands on Vali and Zanara...”

“I’ll... urgh... I’ll go see what it was. Gods, my _head_...” Keris mutters, abandoning her teacup and rising to leave. “I think that came third only to your becoming music and Vali blowing up his birth-moun...tain...”

She pauses halfway across the room as that comment loops around and drives home. Dulmea’s music stutters for a second.

“... shit,” says Keris eloquently, and starts running.

There’s a trail of dust fast approaching her as she leaves the City, though it's not running in a straight line. An outraged Eko is flailing and flapping with gestures that don’t make sense. Either her ears are hurting so much that she’s punch-drunk, or she’s inventing new swear-motions on the spot.

Maybe both.

In between the profanity, though, she indicates that it came from the Spires and she’s going to stab Vali so so much.

Keris shifts direction slightly and kicks into a full sprint, offering Eko her back so that her eldest can fall in behind her and stop weaving around like a high-speed drunken bumblebee. She’s half furious herself; the other half being a quiet terror as to what Vali has done to himself to produce a sound on the level of soul-alteration. If he’s hurt, she’s not sure what she’s going to do.

... if he’s not hurt, she’s going to box his ears until they hurt as much as hers do.

But the crater she comes across in the Spires doesn’t seem to be Vali’s doing. Yes, the place is covered in cooling molten metal, but it’s gold and silver, not brass, and even as she watches lotus blossoms are sprouting from the metal. The metal itself is still reverberating with an echo of the noise that knocked her out of her chair, the voices coming from each newly forming lotus.

And there’s something in the middle, something white-hot that’s making plinking noises as it cools.

It’s akin in form to a blood ape, built to a scale larger than humans with muscular, overlong arms. It’s less hunched than a blood ape, though - she can see that it would be able to walk upright like a man as easily as on its knuckles if it wished. It’s hewn from gold and from silver and studded with gems, and held together by locks of blood-red hair that winds through its limbs and coils inside its chest as it sits in lotus position with four-fingered hands splayed open. The source of that hair is its head, but it isn’t the head of a man, or a blood ape, or any other species Keris has ever seen. It isn’t a head at all, really. It’s a domed cage of some goldish-silvery metal, and within it sits a little gold-and-silver monkey with a red-tressed skull. The hair spills out from the central knot within that skull, multiplying and growing in volume as it goes, spilling down the monkey’s back into the ape-body it sits on.

The monkey has no eyes, but the way it cocks its tiny head makes Keris think of them opening. Beneath it, the great body of the ape rolls fluidly forward onto its hind feet and knuckles, then pushes lightly off the ground to stand upright.

“... _Firisutu?_ ” she asks, bewildered. Looking around... yes, this is the same spot her familiar had cocooned himself a month ago, but... this was... how had... what?

_What?_

“Keris,” the reborn Firisutu says. And it’s a word, not a high-pitched chitter; one that emanates from both monkey-head and ape-chest at the same time in a high tone like clinking gold and a low resonant one that matches it syllable for syllable. He lifts his feet off the ground, and sits in mid-air calmly, knuckles pressed together in his lap. “I am the firstborn. I am the guardian of your souls and of all your many races. I shall lead them and guard them and...”

Oi oi oi, Eko gestures angrily, hair still pressed over her ears. Firisutu is owed one hell of a stabbing, she gestures, waving her knife angrily. Not just for being so loud, but also for being a damn lying monkey who’s ignoring that _actually_ it’s the keruby who are the firstborn, because Eko made them first and he doesn’t get to steal her damn credit!

“... but... what?” Keris stutters. He’s talking like... he’s saying that he’s... her eyes flash green for a second as she takes in his essence, hoping that it will make this all make _sense_.

((Enlightenment 5, Kerisian essence.))

He’s a demon lord. A weak demon lord - not much more powerful than the strongest First Circles she’s ever seen, and roughly on-par with a demon soon to undergo sublimation like her Helmsman... but a demon lord nonetheless. One of _her_ demon lords. A... an _eleventh_ soul; and not a child of hers.

Except he is, in a way. He’s the first demon she ever brought to life with her hands; her first living creation. And now he’s part of her very soul; a serf become citizen become noble become...

... become _soul_.

Keris considers this for a moment, reviewing her knowledge of soul dynamics to see if there’s a ready explanation for what just happened.

There isn’t.

“... what?” she repeats faintly, sitting down heavily on the rocky ground.

((God, Sasi would be _so smug_ if she were here right now. “That’s how it feels, hah!”))

Look, Eko gestures with a put upon air, this stupid monkey’s become a vessel of fat Keris’ creativity embodying her life-making stuff even though actually it was Eko’s genius who invented the stuff in the first place and now he’s being loud and dumb and disrespecting her keruby so she’s going to have to stab him a few times.

“No stabbing other parts of me!” Keris snaps automatically. “And I’m not fat! Even if I gained a bit of weight while I was pregnant; I was supposed to! And I’ll be just as light and fast as ever soon!”

She drags a hand through her hair, trying to decide how to react to this. “Firi- Firisutu. You said you’re a... guardian of my souls? And races?”

The ape-god - well, kind of - bows his head to her. “Yes. The kats that roam these lands, the creatures of the sea and sky and land, the lesser demon races - I am their warden and shepherd. I looked across the land and realised in the absence of the prince and princesses, things are not as they should be. In that realisation, I understood that as I once mapped out the lands for you, I must map out a way for things to be. I shall now go to consult with Queen Dulmea, and see what must be done in the absence of Rathan, Haneyl and Calesco.”

“That... doesn’t sound like creativity and life-making stuff,” Keris mutters to herself. Eko stomps her foot angrily in response. Fine, her petulant motions seem to imply, maybe he’s born of fat Keris’s responsibility and took form around her leadership and governing plans which are super boring and pointless, who cares? It doesn’t matter either way, she gestures more threateningly, and shakes her knife at him; the motion making it clear that no one is going to look after her darling baby sister’s land but her - ‘specially not some damn loud ape!

“Eko!” Keris scolds. “I know he made a loud noise, but you didn’t try to stab Vali when he was born! Or Dulmea when she became music!”

Possibly, she thinks privately, because in both those cases Eko had seen it coming. Given how angry she is at the moment, Keris rather suspects this took her eldest by surprise, and that’s what she’s really pissed about.

Shaking her head at that, she walks up to Firisutu, admiring the new body he’s built himself. Three layers of body now - the grand ape-golem, the wealthy monkey-body and - still visible in that cage, cocked slightly as it regards her - the little knot of hair and monkey-skull that she fashioned more than a year ago.

She smiles.

“I still don’t understand this,” she confesses in a lower tone. “But I’m glad. Welcome back, Firisutu. And congratulations on your rebirth.”

“I will try to be less stressful to you than your children, my empress,” he says, bowing to her again. He floats closer than you. “Now, unless you have some duties, I shall go to Queen Dulmea to introduce myself to her, and speak as to how to best coordinate her efforts - and perhaps see if she will offer me some of her tea.”

“By... by all means,” Keris says, bowing back and quickly shifting to put herself between him and Eko, who has her knife drawn and is flipping it around meaningfully. He bows once more - the little monkey not inconvenienced in the slightest by the tilt of its cage - and lowers his legs to the ground to stride off in the direction of the City walls.

Keris stares after him for a moment, wrapping a loop of hair around Eko’s wrist to keep her in place.

“... I’m leaving this to work out later,” she decides. “It can be Future Keris’s headache. Come on, let’s go sacrifice a demon lord instead.”

Soo, Eko gestures hopefully, no chance for a quick summons out so she can help mama with the fighting? It wouldn’t be for looooooooooong, Eko adds, twirling a finger in her hair.

“... I’m not sure I _could_ ,” Keris realises with a frown. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he went into hibernation on the new moon - or that he emerged on the next one as a demon lord. I could try, but it... it _feels_ like raising a soul to that tier of strength ate up the energy it’d cost me to externalise you.” She purses her lips. “Hmm. Well, I can probably still call on you in the fighting if it’s really necessary. Or if she brings friends. Let’s go find out.”

Somehow, Eko’s gesture that it’s fine comes out more as fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.

After her brief meditation, Keris heads to where Malek is preparing. She’s packed her bags already, because the summoning circle is apparently nowhere near the manse.

“I don’t want to risk tainting the geomancy of this place,” she explains. “I worked dreadfully hard on this. Gather your people and we should go, darling. It’s a fair distance away and we have hours of set-up before we can even start.”

“What will you be telling her?” Keris wants to know. “To get her here?” A few quick commands spur Calesco, Rathan and Oula to get ready. Rathan and Oula will be standing well back and hopefully near a river as a fallback to take the twins if Calesco needs to fight. Keris isn’t willing to trust her babies will be safe here alone. “And... ach,” she realises, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to summon my ally’s image tonight. Will you be able to Beckon and invoke on the same night if my attempt fails?”

Malek frowns, then shrugs. “Well, if it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out, darling. It depends how much time before dawn there is once she responds to my call. The rite can be a little irregular.”

Keris huffs, but nods. “Fine,” she says shortly. “If we’re riding by carriage, I’ll... hmm. I can probably get away with wearing my armour, if I leave the helmet off and wear a jacket over it so it looks like something I go around in all the time. So I’ll be putting that on and getting used to it.”

Malek laughs. “Darling, I was going to go most of the way by Verdant Strider and take my simhata for the rest. These are my lands, and I’m not walking any further than I have to.”

Keris nods happily. “Good.”

They head a suitable distance away from the crops and fields, along with ten of the plant-man duplicates of Malek. The woman gestures languidly to the earth, one of the jade rings that festoons her hands glowing the same emerald green as her eyes. “Velres the Verdant, I call on you, rise!” she orders. “By the oaths you have sworn, rise and serve me!”

The earth quakes, and Oula squeaks and sits down heavily. Below them, the ground dislodges itself as the short grass changes in texture. Plants, bushes, trees - everything is pulled up and into the back of some great beast. Keris, Rathan and Calesco grab on with their hair as they find themselves ten metres above the ground, standing on the back of some vast spider-like insect made of soil and vegetation.

And then it begins to move, sprinting off at an impressive pace. Keris could run faster - but not all that much faster.

Malek settles in, sprawling out on the grass. “Isn’t this so much more civilised than riding the stormwinds?” she observes. “Those things always made a frightful mess of my hair.”

Keris isn’t able to appreciate the full view, because she’s in her armour and it’s not yet responding to her will - which means it’s heavy, stiff, awkward and limits the amount she can turn her head. But she can still hear fine, and manages a jerky nod as she tries to coax the moonsilver into responding to her.

In future, she decides, she’s going to take it out for a run or a swim or a bout of sparring practice at least once a week. She’s pretty sure half the reason it’s so bloody-minded whenever she dons it is because it feels neglected.

Gritting her teeth as the akuma-mind within the metal retreats from her attempts at harmonising for the third time in as many minutes, she settles into a patient welcoming state and tries to glean what she can about this spell of Malek’s while she waits.

((It’s a pretty nice spell. Keris is pretty impressed about how it doesn’t leave footprints when standing on plants, though it crushes rock and earth and leaves big craters in rivers.))

Malek guides her spider-beast up the ridges of the plateau, up to a sprawling wood. This is clearly old growth, that hasn’t been harvested in a long time - decades, maybe. A few desperately poor hamlets hide up here among the thick vegetation, but when Keris listens most of them see totally abandoned. What’s more, she can hear things moving down in the woods. Not mortals or animals. Demons.

“This is known as the Fazwood, this forest, by the locals. They believe it’s haunted,” Malek says, amusement clear in her voice. “The peasantry are such fools. My summons would kill any ghosts that lingered here.”

“A useful place,” Keris says neutrally, glad she left Kerisa and her mother back at the manse. “Aha!” She stands, easy and effortless, and lets the helmet slide back like liquid into the breastplate. “Finally. I swear, that gets longer every time. And now I can just...”

Plunging a silver-clad arm into her hair, she draws out a long dark red jacket that comes down to her knees and is richly embroidered with white and gold wind-wave-branch patterns slashing down the sides and arms and back in the outlines of great curved fangs. It doesn’t cover up the armour, but it makes it look less inhumanly battle-focused; more like the uniform of a captain or a commander - and it also adds a certain dramatic flair to her silhouette.

“Calesco; someplace high. Rathan, Oula, near her with the twins,” she orders. “Malek... beckon your creditor. And then get out of the way. As fast as you can.”

“Oh, we’re not there yet. We’re going to have to dismount and go the last few kilometres on foot,” Malek says, letting the spider sink back into the earth. There’s bright green grass and trees where it returned to the world, and that only makes it more obvious how the vegetation here is... not quite right.

“You see,” she explains once she’s mounted on her simhata, and the convoy is heading under the wide dark boughs, “I found this place before I even managed to secure the purchase of the land for the demesne. There’s a place here where the world’s thin. From what I can tell, there was a small town built here during the time of the Shogunate that wasn’t touched by the Contagion at all. But that protection was dear indeed, because they sold their souls to a demon prince to buy it. In the end, their master claimed the price and when they manifested, the world was scarred. And when the peasants moved back here, the land was sour and things grew back wrong. I believe it’s almost a demesne of one of the demon-kings. I’ve been cultivating it since I found it because I think it’d be jolly fascinating to try to cap a Hell-manse.”

And after nearly an hour more of travel, Keris sees what she meant. There’s an overgrown town here, ruins and rubble. Ancient gnarled trees grow from crumbled houses. A fallen water tower has collapsed into a river which runs through barely recognisable old sewers. A few of the buildings have been patched up with fallen stone. And everywhere, there’s grey clay exposed.

Keris looks around with interest, her eyes flashing green as she takes in the sounds and scents and sights. She reaches down and brushes her armoured fingers through the grey clay, bringing a few crumbs up to taste the faint echoes of power in them. The soil, the clay is sandy. The grey colour comes from silver sand.

“A weak point into Cecelyne,” Keris murmurs. “No wonder the walls of the world are thin here. It’s almost part of the Endless Desert.”

Malek nods. “It makes beckoning demon lords and invoking demonic icons so much easier,” she agrees. “It really is an excellent thing that I found this place. Now, if you would follow me...”

It’s not the temple she leads Keris to - no, that’s rubble. It’s some kind of old amphitheatre, the seats arranged in rows before a crumbled, once-white wall. There are demons here - stone things leering from atop the decaying walls, and blood apes squatting in the ruins, playing unseen-to-mortals card games.

Outside, the sun is lowering down the sky and the high trees means it’s already twilight. The walls and old seats of the amphitheatre have been covered in layer upon layer of cult writings and worn artwork, the demons Malek has set guarding it have additional things scrawled on top. The seats are overgrown with a vile-smelling black moss, and The Things That Dwell In Corners gibber in the shadows. 

When Keris and Calesco enter the ruins, all the gibbering creatures fall silent and collapse to their faces, bashing their heads against the ground. Some of the demons do the same thing. Keris’s smile has a hint of smugness to it. “Right then. Calesco? Right at the top of the seats, please, and stay hidden. Rathan, Oula; outside with the twins. Malek, when I embrace or pin her; that’ll be your cue to get back. My touch will be what lets her know something’s wrong. Stay in sight, though - and if you have a way to stop her from squirming back into the Desert and it looks like she’s about to try; use it.”

“I had thought to summon her under the guise of introducing you to her as a supplicant,” Malek says, raising her thick eyebrows. “I... had thought you might pretend to be a young and foolish Terrestrial, as I once was. But I suppose the direct approach has its benefits.”

Keris purses her lips. “No, I can do that, I suppose. And it’ll drop her guard more - and definitely let me get close enough to touch by kissing her hand or something. Alright, give me a moment to veil myself.” She crouches and pulls her shadow over herself - shifting her appearance to a different, though still Tairan, form, and disguising her essence as a pitifully weak song of Fire rather than the Hellish maelstrom it is in truth. Her silver armour becomes battered red jadesteel - though the jacket stays the same; she’s proud of that - and her hair turns brown, though it stays long and mobile.

She should have thought of this herself, Keris scolds internally. She doesn’t plan on letting Lei Mei get away, but if it does happen, this will stop Keris getting implicated.

((Disguising herself as an Enlightenment 3 Fire Aspect with a different face.))

Malek brings her hands together. “Then I believe it’s time to begin,” she says, directing her plant-beastman servants to begin setting up all manner of strange equipment that she takes out from the cases she had them carrying. 

There are lightning catchers. There are prayerwebs. There are spinning silver orbs that gloat above tarnished plates. There are those glowing crystals that light the Malran cities. And there’s...

“Chalk?” Keris asks.

Malek hands Keris the chalk, and parchment with carefully sketched out diagrams. “I’ve seen how steady your hand is and your knowledge of demonology,” she says. “We need the calling markers drawn, and it’ll be much faster if you can follow the diagrams. Can you do that?”

((It’ll be a Cog + Expression roll for Keris to copy the diagrams, Malfean/demonology subject. If she does well, it’ll be bonuses to this attempt))

Keris considers mentioning that this all seems a lot of hassle for a summoning - there’s more pomp and ceremony here than even Sasi uses - but decides against it. She takes the chalk with a sigh and sets to work, taking a vague interest in the theory behind what she’s copying down as she goes and using her hair to help reach bits here and there without smudging.

She conserves her real effort, though. She already has some of her strength tied up in her armour and her disguise. And while Lei Mei is no combatant, she’s still a powerful and cunning demon lord. Keris knows better than to waste energy now that she might need later. It’s getting dark by the time it’s done. Malek orders her servants to bring in the two cows and the goat she had them take with them and positions them in the centre of the diagram. Everyone is in position.

Then, taking a knife, she cleanly slices both their throats, letting the cows bleed out into the circle. Strangely, the blood doesn’t cross the chalk lines, but soaks into them. She doesn’t stop there, though. Once the cattle have bled out their last, she takes her sharp little knife and begins to viscerally dismantle them, mutilating the corpses with studied care. The blood doesn’t stain her, but it covers everything else. She cuts the lungs up, removes the hearts and impales them on the lightning catchers, and cuts and cuts until everything smells of meat and copper.

The goat approaches, seemingly of its own volition, and begins to lap up the blood. Its eyes glow. Snake-like fangs grow.

“Good,” she says to Keris softly. “Lei Mei has heard the beckoning. She is coming. Prepare yourself.”

((Roll me Physique + Subterfuge + ExD = 15 for how well Calesco is hiding herself))  
((10 successes. Calesco eez gud sneaky daughter.))

Bloody lightning crackles around Keris’s hands briefly; flickering through the shapes of her Lance, her kerises, her knives. Her hair rustles. Patterns of deep reds and pinks shot through with vivid green highlights stain her palms, and she balls her hands into fists to hide them.

“I’m ready,” she breathes in a hiss.

There’s a flash of light overhead, and something unseen drops down. The air smells of the Desert. Sand buzzes like flies. And then the discarded organs start moving, twisting, writhing. The intestines coil like snakes, forming up and round into the shape of a woman, becoming more solid and less like a pile of meat.

It’s a bald woman - no hair, no eyebrows, nothing. A woman whose purple eyes reflect green light until they’re something in between. A woman with the fangs of a snake when she works her too-wide jaw. She’s dressed in purpleish-green leather whose iridescent shimmer has a heartbeat.

“Oh, my esteemed master,” she says sibilantly, bowing before Malek. She doesn’t blink. “You haven’t called on me in such a long time. Tell me, what ails you, master?”

“It’s not what ails me,” Malek says, eyes lowered. “I found one who wanted more knowledge and I knew you always want more disciples. She’s young.”

The demon lord tilts her head almost ninety degrees as she takes Keris in. When her legs move, they rasp against one another. Her snake-tongue tastes the air - it’s silver. “Oh, look at you,” Lei Mei says, inching forwards. “So young. I am Lei Mei, a tutor-spirit from beyond the world. I teach the arts of medicine, of flesh-crafting and curation, and grant boons of flesh and health. Your friend here has benefitted from my knowledge and my healing, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Malek says.

“What do you want, little one?” Lei Mei says, slinking closer forwards. “Just ask.”

“Lady Qaja...” Keris says tremulously, surrounding herself with a protective sheath of Rathan’s light, “... she... she says you know many things. About the secrets of life and... and of medicine and healing.” She fills her mind with thoughts of Darling Yellow, of Kuha prior to her transformation, of the child Kerisa will be and of Lilunu’s sickliness. There _are_ people she desperately wants to help, and while her knowledge of medical things is great, it’s not _enough_. Not really.

((OK, so I’m trying the quest-challenge system here for resolving things. She’s a 3-challenge threat to get her into a position where Keris can take her down safely. She’s treating Keris as a sales-challenge, where she’s trying to persuade Keris to pact with her - and her defence will be looking for deception or dishonesty, trying to thwart Keris’ challenges. If she manages that, then she’ll break off the social challenges and begin either combat or escape. So,Keris’ first challenge approach is one of mild-mannered deception. That’s running off Per + Politics, contested by Reaction + Investigation, and Keris has a +2 equipment bonus from Malek’s introduction.))  
((So, Keris is playing a young DB who wants tutoring in the secrets of life and medical arts for people she cares about, and is consciously letting her Principles towards others show to inject a bit of truth into it. She’s also using Beauty-Over-Truth.))  
((4+1+2 stunt+5 Kimmy ExD {endlessly giving, patronage and kindness, shameful truths}+2 Malek bonus=14. Eeeek. 3 successes. However!  
BOT roll is Per+Exp; 4+5+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD+Essence autosux=20. 14+4=18 sux.  
So, uh... Keris is doing a really bad job but papering over the cracks with raw innocence?))  
((Hilariously, she fucked up her roll too and only got 2 successes on 8 dice - the BOT roll meant she wasn’t trying hard and wasn’t using excellencies.))  
((Lol. Calesco is making catty comments to herself about how they're both idiots.))

Keris can’t help but feel that she completely fucked this up! Argh! She’s coming on way too strong! She just sounds greedy, not clever! And she can’t help but think about how much she wants to kill this smug snake of a woman! But she's lucky. The demon lord's greed for new victims blinds her to the flaws in Keris's façade.

“Yesssssssssss,” Lei Mei says, sashaying closer. Her thighs rub together making a sound like crickets and sandpaper. “Yes, of course you want me and my help. She was wise to call me. Why do you want me? I can save your loved ones, I can grant you life unending, and I can free your subjects and descendants from human foibles. Come, come, tell me your problems and I will tell you how I can ressssolve them.” Her voice is hypnotic and lulling, her eyes fog Keris’ mind. “I can make you rich and wise, yessssss.”

((She’s using Captivating Glance to hypnotise Keris, trying to beat her MDVs and so layer on an Emotion that’ll penalise her Reaction and reaction-based rolls through making her so, so sleepy and pliable. This is UMI. 16 dice, 6 successes lol. She’s really having awful luck. On the other hand, she’s unknowingly hitting Keris’ greed, so Keris either needs to find another Principle to counter the greed or beat this some other way.))

Keris’s blood doesn’t boil. She’s not angry. Instead it _chills_ as she listens to the things Lei Mei offers her. Oh, she believes this snake in woman’s clothing. She’s sure Lei Mei can do all that and more. That she has such wisdom, such power, such knowledge of how the bodies of men can be healed. Changed. _Improved_.

And how did she get it? What does she _do_ with it? What would the _cost_ be of learning from her?

She knows the answers, of course. They’re written all over Malek’s past.

((Envious Heart used on Lei Mei; “Lei Mei Is Unworthy Of Such Knowledge”. Bonus successes on observing, studying or Joining Battle against her. And I think this is pitting Compassion against Greed, as well as - heh - Never Be Chained Again.))

A cold, vicious envy settles into her heart as she looks down and glances up through her eyelashes, laughing prettily. “I... I hadn’t thought you’d really...” she stutters. “But you can? Truly? I can heal sicknesses and wounds; I’ve saved men from sword wounds and illnesses, but... but I can’t stop old age. And there are ailments of the spirit I don’t even understand, I can’t fix those. You can teach me?”

“Of course I can,” Lei Mei says, voice as sweet as honey and soft as silk.

((So, what will Keris’ second approach be to getting her to open her guard and let Keris knock her out?))  
((Hmm. Pretended vulnerability - uncertainty about what she can offer in return, phrased to rule out infrastructural Backgrounds she can’t access so that Lei Mei can “kindly” offer things like “aid my cults” and “capture souls for me” as alternatives while Keris inches closer.))

“I know you won’t give this knowledge away for free,” Keris continues hesitantly, biting her lip and edging forward, shrinking down and looking up plaintively to let Lei Mei feel bigger and more powerful. “But... Lady Qaja has her manse and her servants and all these fine things. I don’t own anything so grand. I can still do things to pay for my tuition, though! What would you ask of me? There’s no price too great!”

((Okay, Per + Presence, and she’s going to try to grab Keris in a nice little pact via Persuasion+ Bureaucracy. 19 dice + channelling Principle Ensnare the Chosen of the Gods level 4 - 11 successes for her. This isn’t strictly a social thing with the standard system - it’s more that she’s tracking her own advancement towards her goal of luring Keris into a pact, and that’s one successful action towards her total. So she’s managed to lay out terms that Keris genuinely wants and is tempted by, but she hasn’t accumulated enough successful actions to bring it into that kind of resolution))

It’s tempting. It’s so tempting. Dragons and Yozis, no wonder Lei Mei is good at what she does. All laid out like this, Keris is aware that this could be really very good for her. Secret lore books from Lei Mei, describing hidden things about man and how she could learn to warp flesh like a neomah through her sorcerous arts. Her own life extended through demonic power. Ancient weapons and secret tools of the demon realm, given to her.

And the cost really doesn’t sound that much. She’d be taught by Lei Mei’s servants as part of one of her cults, yes, that’s all. She’d be part of the cult, working for her tuition, and the cult would really be given to her so when she furthers its interests, she’d be furthering her own interests. She wouldn’t be a poor Dragonblood in battered armour, no on. How would she like to be a high lady in some great city - maybe Chiaroscuro? Or maybe even one of Lei Mei’s hidden towns. 

It only makes the mercury in Keris’ heart all the sharper with the knowledge of how the demon lord got all of this - and how she’s flaunting it over Keris. Oh, it burns to think that Keris doesn’t have this.

She reaches for the contract Lei Mei has drawn up, a look of naked longing on her face that’s not entirely feigned... and then hesitates, and steps back.

“I... there’s just one thing,” she says, biting her lip. “Um. I’m not afraid of the Realm, of course! But I’m just one woman - even with all of this. And they pursue the servants of demons and kill them, with their bastard monks and dozens of men and Dragonblooded like me - only _armed_ better and with all the funds of the fucking Realm behind them. I’ve seen a Wyld Hunt like that. They were unstoppable.” She shivers and hugs herself. “I... I don’t want to do anything that would bring them down on me. Not until I’m strong enough to throw them off.”

((Okay, so now that Lei Mei feels like she has Keris in her grasp, pull back just a bit so she drops her guard in order to pull her back and secure the deal. Keris is explicitly trying to get Lei Mei to comfort her and promise that no, of course she won’t be put at risk, and putting some subtle encouragement to touch her in her body language.))  
((... sigh. And that’s absolute truth, too. Keris _is_ a coward, lol.))

Lei Mei slinks closer, tasting the air. “Oh, don’t worry, I can make sure you’re safe, far from the Realm and its interfering hands. Well away from one of their ssssssssatrapies,” she exhales. “You can find I’m very forgiving. We can seal this in the old fashioned way. All you need to do is say yes. I’ll mark you with my fangs and our contract can be sssssssssealed.”

((She’s offering Keris a contract, sealed by Keris letting her bite her. This would usually be a Per + Pres thing, contested by Keris, if she didn’t want to be bitten. Now amusingly, Keris can choose to not contest this action, because that’ll bring Lei Mei in close. In which case, it becomes Keris trying an Endurance + Athletics roll to resist the pain and the venom in the bite, contesting Lei Mei’s activation roll for her venom, and that’ll put Keris in a good position for a final action, that might be Subterfuge for secret poisoning, or be activating her snek Shintai and wrapping Lei Mei up in her armoured scales and crushing her into unconsciousness and doing her ritual in lamia form. :p ))  
((Hmm. Her lamia-coils do lethal damage. But on the other hand, that would be fucking hilarious as a snek vs snek thing.))  
((She can choose to pull her blows. Also, lol, Keris would be full armour snek here too in her moonsilver.))  
((She can and would indeed. Mwaa haa. This is gonna be fun. And terrify Malek a little bit, probably.))

Keris lets her come, lifting her chin up like prey walking willingly to the slaughter. Lei Mei is a snake in woman’s clothing, but Keris is too. And the serpentine side of Keris is greater; her venoms stronger, her coils more powerful. The demon lord has no idea what she’s walking into.

The demon lord’s eyes are alluring, and despite the strangeness of her appearance - and the fact that Keris knows she made this body from cattle organs - there’s a bit of Keris that finds her attractive. Her slitted eyes come in close to Keris’, as she carefully removes some of Keris’ fake armour from her throat. She licks Keris’ neck, and the saliva tingles, the entire area going numb.

“You’ve made the right choice,” she tells Keris sweetly, leaning in.

Then her jaw unhinges, and she sinks her teeth into Keris’ neck. There’s a moment of resistance as she finds Keris’ skin tougher than she expected, but then she’s through.

The venom hits immediately. Keris feels light-headed, and very happy, like she’s been drinking with friends. She’s very well-inclined and affable to everything, especially this nice lady. But under the fuzziness is the pain that tingles like pins and needles through every part of her body.

((Keris rolls Endurance + Athletics against Diff 4 to resist this and prevent being incapacitated by this drunk-ness))  
((... isn’t Keris’s bloodstream full of mercury that increases her Tolerance of any poison by 4 doses per week? :V))  
((Yes, so it is. That reduces it to Difficulty 1 - she’s injecting a lot of venom in, but that gives Keris way more room to play with.))  
((3+5+2 stunt=10. 5 sux. Hee.))

Keris’s arms come up to draw the demon lord into a loose embrace. She makes a faint sound - a whimper, perhaps, or a moan. It might sound like pleasure, to an outside listener.

It’s not.

“You’ve made the wrong one,” she whispers back.

And then her palms make contact with Lei Mei’s back, releasing her own venom in turn. The whimpering moan turns into a hiss, and Keris’s shadow tears apart; the lie of jade armour and the dragon’s blood falling apart as she grows. Colour bleeds from her hair. Her moonsilver armour shifts and grows to accommodate her new size; the greaves and boots shifting to an armoured skirt as Keris’s legs fuse together and lengthen, lengthen, _lengthen_. Razor-edged feathers sprout from her new tail. Her teeth sharpen to fangs. Her pupils narrow.

The loose embrace turns crushing, and Keris’s true, serpentine form wraps around Lei Mei like a constrictor; pinning her arms and wrapping around her legs as her caste mark burns to life on her forehead. One snake, caught in the cruel embrace of another.

((Contested Physique + Athletics - her to escape, Keris to subjugate, and she’s at Diff 4 because of surprise and Keris’ snake form giving her a massive advantage here.))  
((Lei Mei rolls 7 + channelling 5-dot “Survive” - 12 dice. Fucking lol, her luck turns. 10 successes. [ **10** 9 9 8 8 7 7 7 7 6 2 1]. 6 successes net))  
((Unfortunately for Lei Mei, Keris is rolling 5+5+2 stunt+9 snek+10 Malfeas ExD {cruel, obvious, strong, overkill}=31 dice. 16 successes, lel. Keris will hold back from CRUSHING HER TO DEATH and clinch to restrain rather than to inflict damage. She will, however poison her with repeated doses of penalty-inducing but Bashing-only Kimmy venom.))

Lei Mei thrashes, fights, tries to escape. She sheds her false human skin and tries to slither loose as a purple-green serpent the size of a tree trunk.

Nothing works. Keris is wrapped around her, and mortal constrictors have nothing on the monstrous demon snake-woman who’s wrapped around the lesser demon-snake. Her thrashing gets weaker and weaker, and Keris’s hair wraps around her throat and jaw, pulling it off her throat.

In the end, there’s a limp demon snake trapped within Keris’ coils, its hide covered in smeared Kimberyian toxins, countless lesser gashes and cuts from where it wriggled against Keris’ coils.

There’s a flutter of dark wings, and Calesco drops down from her hiding place.

“You are _shameless_ , mother,” she gripes.

Slitted grey eyes look up at her mournfully, and white hair pokes at the shredded remains of the beautiful dark red jacket that had lain over the silver armour. It was sized for a human. It is not sized for a demon-lamia. All of the seams have burst, and the lovely embroidery is rent and torn beyond recovery.

“I did it again,” Keris pouts. “I need to ssstop changing like thisss when I have clothesss on.”

She sighs, and makes an effort to talk in a more human register. “Well, she’s not awake for it, sso I’m going to make the mossst of thisss. The heart of a demon lord is ussseful.” A flicker of bloody lightning drops her Lance into her hand, and she shifts to lift Lei Mei up to her human parts. “Go look after the twinsss, Calessco. I’ll be a while.” She glances sideways at Malek to gauge her reaction - the old woman had gotten out of the way quickly when the two demonic serpents had fallen to fighting, but Keris hadn’t had the attention to spare for what she’d looked like at the time. “Keep an eye on her, too, if sshe goess.”

There’s a look of gratitude in Calesco’s eyes as she’s sent away, not having to watch what Keris does. 

“Well,” Malek says, keeping a safe distance behind Keris. “Your brow is burning with the sign of the Night Sun-chosen - but it burns with the fire of the green sun of Hell. So he has his own Exalted.”

Keris pauses; her Lance pressing against the venom-stained skin of the demon lord. Her feathers gouge tiny chips of stone from the stone floor of the amphitheatre as she shifts fluidly to face the old woman and cocks her head.

“Doesss he?” she asks, offering her a smile full of fangs. “Or wasss I made with a persson like your Ney? Or another thing entirely? There are many empty ccircless in the world.” She slithers closer. “We have a bargain, Malek Qaja, and one much kinder to you than thisss.” A shift of her coils makes the limp head of Lei Mei loll to the side. “But if you are wise, you won’t asssk too many quesstions. Mm? Now, ssstay and watch, or leave, but be quiet either way. I need to conccentrate.”

((Per+Pres roll to let Malek know that poking her nose into what exactly Keris is, or spreading the knowledge anywhere at all, is not a good idea. 4+5+3 Prince of Hell+2 stunt+9 Malfeas ExD=23. 13 successes.))

Malek clears her throat. “I should remove the witnesses,” she says, glancing at the watching first circle demons she’s bound to watch this place. “Neither of us want word of this night getting out.”

“You do that,” Keris says absently, arranging Lei Mei to her satisfaction on the ground and beginning to carve occult symbols into the stone around her. “Thisss will take a couple of hoursss to make, and then I’ll carve her heart out.”

((... heh. Does Keris roll to realise what Malek means by ‘remove the witnesses’, or is she too distracted by focusing on sorcery?))  
((Your choice))  
((Hmm. She’s swayed Id-wards at the moment, so yeah, her higher impulses aren’t firing on all cylinders and she’s less sensitive to implications when she’s not paying much attention in the first place. Calesco might intervene, though.))  
((Calesco left, though. So, yeah.))

Keris hears the cloying, oppressive warmth of the jungle surge behind her, and with a humming Malek’s hand is sheathed in a pillar of green light that takes form as a long thin blade. 

“Stay still,” she says firmly.

Methodically, she drives it into the neck of one of the watching blood apes. Vines wrap up and around its body, red grapes hanging from the boughs.

The blood apes gibber and yelp in fear, but their binding means they can’t run - or attack Malek or her guests until she attacks each of them in turn. Most don't even survive her first blow.

“Hey!” Keris snaps, but she’s already shaping the spell; she can’t leave the ritual circle or stop carving now or it’ll collapse. “You don’t need to kill them, we...”

A symbol very nearly goes awry, and with an angry hiss she snaps her full focus back to what she’s doing, closing her ears to the slaughter and grinding her sharp teeth together. She can’t think about it now, not while she’s balancing the energies that sorcery demands - but once she’s done, she can let herself be angry at the waste of life. The yelping and whimpers and screams stop, after a while. The air smells of fresh flowers, peaches, and vineyards, almost covering up the blood.

Inwardly promising a dire argument once she’s done, Keris works around the circle, carving the marks and praise-names of her patrons and the necessary symbols and patterns to calcify spiritual essence into solid form. For two hours she works, as the night draws deeper. Near the end, the carvings move from the stone floor of the circle and onto the skin of her subject.

It’s perfect. Every line and glyph. And Lei Mei is alive, though unconscious, right up to the final few seconds, when Keris plunges the head of her Lance in to carve open her ribcage and rips out her heart with a silver-plated hand. With a ferocious hiss, she crushes it in her grasp; blood spraying out through her fingers.

When she opens it, a geometric crystal the size of a hen’s egg sits in her hand, its symmetrical facets reflecting the light in purple from one direction and green from another. It’s set in crimson silver coils that form a cage around it, and Keris can feel the power within.

“As you were caged, now ssso is sshe,” she grins. “Perhapsss for a ccentury and a half. Or maybe more.” She tosses it up and catches it on the way down, then flicks it into her hair, where a coil catches it and holds it safe and secret among the masses of white. Slithering out of the circle, Keris pauses to bring her tail down on the ritual circle, obliterating the glyphs and symbols she carved there.

“But,” she scowls, “you didn’t have to kill the watchersss. They couldn’t even fight back!”

Malek gets up from where she was sitting. “Interesting variant of that spell,” she observes with satisfaction. “The gem is yours, but if you want to trade for it I’d offer a fine price. And yes, I did have to. Would you rather that Sondok or Octavian got word of this night? I don’t think so.”

((Rolling Compassion 4... 4 sux. Man, what is it about high-Virtue rolls that keeps making them come out really high? Calesco, stop bribing the dice fairies.  
... and come to think of it, Lead My People Well; 3 sux, and Pay Each Man Back In Kind... only 1 sux, but still contributing to the general feeling here.))

“You could have sssent them away,” Keris growls, rearing up to a height twice that of a tall man. It still leaves half her length on the ground; the very end of her tail waving dangerously like a rattlesnake’s. “You _sshould_ have sssent them away, if you didn’t want them sseeing! They were yourss! Your sservantss, your people! You were their lady! You don’t turn your blade againsst your own followersss!”

“Banish all these demons beforehand?” Malek seems shocked at the idea. “I wouldn’t have had the strength to do so - and even if I’d managed it, it would have left me exhausted with no room for mistakes if anything went wrong with Lei Mei. And these weren’t my people. They were insignificant demons - dumb muscle, nothing more. Task bound to kill anyone who enters here who isn’t my guest.” She rolls her eyes. “And I do mean dumb. I specifically chose these demons for stupidity and aggression. They were chained beasts, not even sentinels.”

((Man, I am super-impressed at her composure here. : P))  
((She’s seen intimidating demon lords before. Also, Jade Defence. : P))  
((Heh. And lol, Kali and Ogin both recognise Keris's lamia-form and love it, because it’s the one that birthed them. Intervention time!))

Keris hisses furiously, her hair flaring out like a cobra’s hood, and her coils lash. But it’s at that moment - perhaps attracted by the noise - that Calesco and Rathan poke their heads into the amphitheatre; Kali and Ogin in their respective arms. Both infants take one look at the towering, furious, bloodstained, monstrous serpent-woman... and break into identical, simultaneous squeals of delight. Kali flickers into kitten-form and leaps out of Calesco’s loose grip, butting into the back of Rathan’s knee on the way down and making him stumble. Ogin slips bonelessly to the ground, and the two scurry and crawl towards their mother as fast as their legs and tails can take them.

It’s a pretty effective dampener to Keris’s anger, and she dips to gather them both up carefully in her arms, tolerating Kali’s excited face-licking and the way Ogin latches his tails around her wrist. Both of them are babbling at her eagerly in nonsensical baby-speak.

“Are we done here?” Rathan asks, with a mock yawn that turns into a real one. “This is far past my bedtime, and I’ve been standing around for hours and hours. Being a responsible big brother is exhausting. And these two need feeding - they drank all the milk you gave me to feed them. It feels like it’s going to be sunrise in a few hours.”

Calesco only looks around the ruined amphitheatre, eyes narrowed.

“Not yet,” Keris hisses. “We need to talk to Asssarin. Firsst, though...”

She closes her eyes and, as she’s done once before, finds the places she and Pekhijira meet, and gently teases them apart. She feels her feathers retract, her coils shrink and separate into legs again, her hair bleed back to red. In her arms, Kali and Ogin let out matching coos of disappointment.

Human once more, Keris shifts her weight a little and rolls her jaw. Yup, it still feels weird coming back from that state. And yes, it feels like she’s fully human again.

“Malek,” she says. “You have that hellish shrine?”

Malek nods. “Of course, darling. I prepared it based on my demonology books, so I’ll have the help bring it in and we can get started.” She pauses. “Though, remember our arrangement. Your dark ally exploiting this is one thing, but she mustn’t know I’m connected to what happened to Lei Mei.”

“I’ll say nothing,” Keris nods. “You better wait outside the walls, if you want to be sure about not being seen.” That it’ll give her some privacy for her talk with Asarin is a convenient side-benefit. She's been studying this particular spell a mite obsessively, with an eye not to the demon lords it can invoke, but the demon princes - such as, perhaps, her mentor. Such ideals have focused her attention more intently than normal, and she’s pretty sure she has it down now, as she kneels before the idol-shrine that’s been prepared with depictions of Asarin’s flames and begins to ritualistically evoke her friend.

Malek would burn an offering of the oily, hellish fluid she distils from yellow jade. Keris has no need of such petty things, and feeds a thread of her own essence into the repurposed shrine; singing and playing a crackling, prickly tune with a dark sub-melody that makes one think of fire and feigned anger and endless ambition under the trappings of respectability.

“Asarin,” she sings between bars, “Asarin, I would speak with thee. Come to answer my call.”

An hour of singing and playing goes by. It’s not good playing, not by Keris’s standards, Barely mortal-level. It’s the first time she’s ever done this ritual, and she’s not used to it. Gritting her teeth, she forges ahead, trying to recall the demon lady’s personality from their meetings and bring it to the forefront of her music.

All of a sudden, all the candles Keris lit go out, and they’re left in the darkness of the early morning. Then just as suddenly, the candles flare up to as high as the tallest standing ruined wall, burning a dull brown, and then settle down.

The idol Malek fashioned for Keris shifts in place, its tiny stone face grating as it works its teeth. It’s only the size of Keris’ forearm, but it’s very intricately detailed. Her eyes open, burning brown.

“Well, Keris, isn’t this a surprise?” Asarin says, looking up at Keris. “Kneel. You’re making my neck hurt to look up at you, and I’ve drifted for five days when you called me. It’s good to see you’ve learned to invoke me, but I kind of hoped you’d learn to summon me.”

Keris kneels obligingly. “I’m working on that,” she says. “But this will do for the moment. I have three things to share with you, and they’re the kind that need a conversation rather than just a messenger. Are you well?”

Asarin harrumphs, stone grating as she puts her tiny hands on her hips. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe what Obau went and did! Threw a massive surprise party for _him_ and then invited everyone! Just so she could gloat in our faces about it! And then Bittesse managed to corner me and I had to spend the entire time trying to fend off her and her hands and her endless cries of ‘Oh, big sister!’ and... it’s so stupid! Urgh!”

Shaking her head mournfully, Keris looks sympathetic. “Well, this might cheer you up. I raided an old Shogunate city recently. It had to be very covert, and I couldn’t leave any trace that anything Hellish was involved, so even if I’d been able to summon you it wouldn’t have been possible - but there was an art exhibit there, and I rescued quite a selection of old Shogunate artpieces from it. Including a whole book on the fashion section where the clothes had rotted away - it’ll take some time and care to restore, but it’s got pictures of everything that was there. I thought I might make a gift of them to you.”

Asarin perks up. “Oh, Keris, thank you! I’ll love to see it. When you get back, you can come over and we’ll have tea and... oh! You’re thin again! You’ve had the babies? You should bring them!”

“I will,” Keris smiles. “And actually, that’s related to the next two things. I found myself with a mercenary company under my employ to move some things connected to my babies back to the Southwest. They’re all women who used to be Brides of Ahlat; that overmasculine war god, and who got terribly abused by his cult for falling in love and the like. They’re quite eager for a new patron who can protect them from any servant-spirits he sends after them.” She winks conspiratorially. “If I were to nudge them into worshipping a new patron with burning hair and armour of flame, might she be inclined to provide some divine gifts to outfit them?”

“Aww,” Asarin says, clasping her hands together, “you’re so nice to me, Keris. You’re a good friend. I hardly have any cults at the moment. Obau was a _massive_ bitch a decade back and went after mine, can you believe it? I’m sure she even told the Wyld Hunt about them!”

“This one will be a lot harder for her to get rid of,” Keris smirks. “I’ll be using them for a lot once I’m back in the Southwest, so they’ll have my backing as well as yours. And speaking of cults... do you know Lei Mei, Asarin? Pyrian demon; snake-like. One of the souls of the Chariot From Outside.”

Asarin frowns. “Vaguely? I invited her to a few parties over the years She doesn’t have one big empire, you know - she claims little areas of land around manses or deposits she can use for her experiments. And she’s a big buyer of all kinds of strange medical tools from the markets, so she has money coming in from somewhere - probably from her cults, if I had to guess. Lots of cults but not many expenses in having to control an empire. Hmmmph!” She flicks her stone hair with a grating noise. “Some people have all the luck!”

“Well, not all of it, as it turns out,” Keris says, shaking her head sadly. “I’ve heard - and I’m pretty sure it’s true - that she made an offer to the wrong young Terrestrial and got herself killed or bound or sealed away or something. Whatever happened, it doesn’t look like she’s coming back to Hell. So if any of those manses are near you, and you’re not so fond of her that you’d pass up seizing them or her funds or her prayer-slaves, now would be a good time. I reckon it’ll take a while for it to become known that she’s out of the picture.”

Asarin tilts her head. “Well well, hmm. Are you certain she’s gone?”

“I’m not sure she’s _dead_ dead, but at minimum she’ll be out of commission for the next... what, year and a day?” Keris says with a shrug. “And rumour has it she got sealed into a gemstone, or maybe turned into one and killed that way. If that’s true - and like I said, I’m pretty sure of my source - she might not come back for centuries, if at all.”

“Oh! Oh ho! So someone’s getting ambitious, are they?” Asarin says. “Someone power hungry is head-hunting demon lords, eh? I’ll need to take care. Or maybe send one of the others to meet up with this monster, mmm.”

Keris grins toothily, eyeing the tiny statuette her friend inhabits. Asarin doesn’t seem terribly upset that Lei Mei is gone, but her attitude to the ‘monster’ that killed her... well, that’s less positive. Would knowing it was Keris, for reasons she considers valid, win her over? Or would it harm their friendship - even risk Asarin telling the Unquestionable of what she’s done? Keris can’t tell that, but she can let her intangible sense of value reach out to judge what Asarin would want for keeping her secret quiet - and what she would be willing to pay for having one of her rival souls disposed of in a similar manner.

((5+1+2 Coadj+2 stunt=10. Using PoEU twice to judge what Asarin would value “keeping the fact that Keris did it a secret” and “getting rid of one of her rivals souls in a similar way” as services from and for her respectively. If the former is very low and the latter is very high, it’s probably safe. 5 successes on 10 dice.))

Reading her friend, Keris can tell that the idea of death - actual death - scares her. That’s why she doesn’t like the idea of some Terrestrial going around murdering demon lords - and some of that might well be why she’s trying to always be more powerful.

And that observation puts her rivalry with her fellow souls in a different light. She doesn’t want them _dead_ , not really. It’s almost a bit like Keris’ own souls, though less negative. They’re her rivals and her enemies and she desperately wants to beat them - but they’re also fixtures in her life. She doesn’t want them _gone_ , just acknowledging she’s the best. So she doesn’t really consider the death of one of her fellow souls to be something of value to her.

And that same fear of death means she won’t look favourably on Keris admitting it. She wouldn’t want a big price for keeping it secret, but that’s because more - Keris feels now - she’d be terrified of Keris turning on her if she found out she snitched.

((Resources 0 for killing another of the Prince of Leeches’ souls as it is, Resources 1 for keeping it secret from others.))  
((As a tsundere, Asarin is actually strangely high in most of her Virtues. : p))

“Well, you’re not inclined to visit Creation on your own,” Keris points out, feeling a little guilty for lying about this. “You want no territories here, and you’ll be with me when I learn to summon you and we go ruin-delving in old Shogunate places. So you’re pretty much safe. I’ll keep an ear out, though.”

“You do that,” Asarin says. “Oh, and now that you have this spell? If you ever feel like calling on one of my sisters, warn me ten days or so in advance. I can take advantage of their absence.”

Keris laughs. “I’ll be sure to. And do tell me if you decide to claim any of Lei Mei’s manses or funds. Say hello to Lilunu for me as well, if you see her before I do. I’ll be visiting soon, but I still have a few things to finish here first.”

“Good, good. In future, though, can you give me some warning of when you intend to invoke me. Hopefully enough time that I can send an infallible messenger asking you not to do it if I’m busy so we don’t waste both of our time? I don’t mind taking some time out to talk to you, but this is ten days out of my schedule.” Asarin glares at Keris. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Keris agrees, working that out in her head. Five days across the Desert for her Messenger, five back for Asarin’s... that’s ten days advance warning... or maybe fifteen, if Asarin would already have left before she... sent a message... telling Keris not to get her to leave? Urgh, thinking about how travel across the Desert works always gives her a headache. “We’ll talk about the rules for urgent things that crop up with no warning when I see you next in person, but for now I’ll call it a solid rule of warn-before-invoking.”

“Fine. Although,” she adds, voice lilting slightly, “invoking me to impress a cult you’re planning to give me? Always fine in my books, Keris, my friend.” 

She’s laying it on a little thick.

Keris chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she promises. “Shall I let you get back to your holdings, then? Or do you want to stay and chat until the sun rises, if you have another boring journey ahead?”

Asarin stretches, clearly not looking forwards to five days of travel. “Until sunrise, then. So what have you been up to, Keris?”

“Well...” Keris says, pursing her lips. “Technically I’m planning on Lilunu being the first one to meet them in person. But you’re here as an idol, so I’ll say it doesn’t count.” She reaches down, out of the statuette’s field of vision, and plucks up the two little forms who are snuggling a hair tendril on her lap. “Asarin, meet Kali and Ogin. Kali, Ogin? This is my friend Asarin. Say hello!”

Two pairs of bright, vivid eyes turn on the little idol. Kali’s tails flick, and she reaches a paw out to bat at it with a quiet meow. Ogin, shyer than his sister, wraps his tails around his mother’s bicep and tries to squirm up onto her shoulders to hide in her hair.

Asarin coos accordingly over the babies, flattering Keris as a new mother properly.

“I sometimes wish I had children,” she says, with a little sigh. “But I’ve been saving myself. Not for him, oh no, no, he’s a... he’s just stupid and wouldn’t deserve me doing something like that. But until I find someone worthy of me I really love, and there just isn’t anyone worth it out there! And some of my sister-souls are just easy! They say they love him, but then they go after other people! And Bittesse is just pretending anyway, hah! Unspeakable Blue, I hate her most of all!”

They talk until dawn, and as the sun comes up the statue turns back into immovable stone.

Keris gets up and stretches, looking at the many new trees and vines growing here from the demons Malek had murdered. There’s fruit on them, and she tastes one of the grapes before finding they’re safe and giving her babies a little bit of a grape each to try. Kali doesn’t like it as a kitten, but Ogin finds grapes hilarious fun.

“Aww,” Calesco says softly, from behind Keris, taking Kali off her mother and cradling the kitten against her shoulder. “They’re so sweet. Even cuter than a newform kerub.”

Keris tickles under her son’s chin and feeds him another grape, bouncing him lightly. “Maybe I’ll summon them some keruby playmates when they’re older,” she muses. “The keruby would probably like that as much as they would.”

She kisses both daughters on the forehead. “You know what Malek did here, I’m guessing?” she asks. “I’m not happy with her about that. I’m less angry than I might be, because from what she said she made sure to summon the most brutish, callous ones she could find, but I’m still not pleased. Lei Mei is gone, though. So she owes me now.”

“I don’t like it, no,” Calesco says. She sighs. “I... I’m not exactly happy with the fact that I’m less angry about it than I would have been if they’d been my demons, though. Mother, you are _expressly_ banned from giving her permission to summon any of mine if that’s how she treats ones she gets her hands on.”

“Oh, she’s not getting permission to summon _anything_ descending from me,” Keris says firmly. “I’m not even leaving her alone around them for long. Speaking of which, come on. We’re finished here, more or less. Time to go back and get some rest.”

“Her servants brought tents,” Calesco says, “so things might be some time getting going. Rathan went to bed.” She blushes. “So, uh, don’t go in that tent. I’m going to sleep soonish and letting Kuha have control. I’m tired and bored and it’s her turn to have her body back. You didn’t really need me at all.”

“I might have done, though,” Keris says firmly, squeezing her shoulder. “Thank you for being here and backing me up.”

It’s a slower trip back. Malek is lingering to clean things up with her servants and do some geomantic surveys of the progression of the proto-demesne, so it’s up to Keris and her people to make their way back - and it’s twenty miles or more.

After walking long enough to get out of sight, she brings out the red jade armour and calls up a carriage from a clump of grass to transport them; a graceful green thing pulled by squirrel-horses with the dragon-faced armour sitting at the front; reins in hand.

“So, let’s see it,” Oula says eagerly, sitting on Rathan’s lap with his hair wrapped around her. “The thing you put all this effort into.”

Checking to make sure nobody outside the carriage is watching, Keris reaches back into her hair and pulls out the lump that’s been wrapped up at the nape of her neck all through her argument with Malek and her talk with Asarin. The faceted gem glints in the light of early morning; purple in some surfaces, green in others where the light hits it at a different angle. The crimson-silver coils that cage it are serpentine, and just as perfectly symmetrical as the jewel itself. It fits neatly into her palm and seems to shiver as her attention falls on it.

“That’s pretty,” Oula says. She shivers. “And a bit scary. Someone could do that to Rathan! I don’t think I want to look at it very long.”

“That was a very pretty thing you did,” Zanara agrees, sounding boyish. “That’s beautiful, just like what you pulled on her was. Oh, I’d make just the _prettiest_ opal. What are you going to do with it, mama?”

“I’m not sure yet what I'll do with it,” Keris admits. “Not break it, for a start - and not let it out of my hands, so that nobody else will. Beyond that...”

She looks at the glinting thing. Her eyes flash green. She can feel the Pyrian essence making it up. Lei Mei is in there, trapped in this calcified nugget of her essence. With her hearing, she can hear her furious hissing.

((E6, Pyrian essence.))

Something like this, though - it’s worth beyond a fortune. It’s literally priceless. This is the kind of thing you could trade for a principality. The gem alone is of incalculable value from its rarity and unique shape and colouration, and that’s before the fact it has a demon lord trapped in it. There are probably sorcerers in Nexus who’d trade an ancient manse or copies of their entire library for that.

((Also, returning the PoEU check of it. I mean, she was effective Essence 8 from the Keris Intimacy + she has Conviction 5, so it’s worth a nominal Resources 8 and functions as Artefact 3 so could be traded for basically any 3 dot background when dealing with high end people.))

“... it could anchor Sorcery,” she murmurs, fascinated. “Not that I’d anchor anything beneficial to people I like in it, because... wow, yeah, she is not happy in there. But a Pyrian demon is a Pyrian demon. It could anchor something to scour the Wyld away, I bet. Or I could render it down to make something powerful. Hell, if I was willing to let it out of my hands I could gift it to the Shashalme and accept that fortress-manse it offered.”

“Imagine if you built that gem into your lance, mama,” Zanara says gleefully. “Its snakiness could go with her being a snake, and you could have a spear that could dissect people or anything like that. It would be so pretty when it moved around hissing!”

‘It wouldn’t be very pretty if it turned around and stabbed me in the heart,’ Keris points out silently. ‘I don’t think she can work any malice, locked in there, but I’ll keep it away from combat and people I like all the same.’

((Zanara is basically suggesting there ‘consuming’ the gem to enhance the lance, but yes, an evil lance would be a risk if Keris failed a roll in the enhancement crafting and the fail-forwards meant she succeeded, but got an evil demon-lance. :p ))

They roll back to Malek’s lands, and most of them head straight back to bed. Keris is intercepted by Xasan along the way. She’s crotchety and headachey.

“How long are we going to be here?” he demands bluntly. “I can’t say I don’t appreciate the rest, but...” he trails off, clearly not quite sure what to say next.

“I know,” Keris says. “I know, I’m getting frustrated too. If Adami isn’t back within a fortnight with the exact location of my father and the names of every person involved in my mother’s murder - or them lined up in a row, if he’s decided to be useful - then we’re setting off and I’ll find them myself. He’s Harbourite and he understands about honour, so I’m trusting that he’ll help us - and it’s a big plateau and it was a long time ago - but my patience won’t stretch much further than yours. He swore to a month. The day that month is up, we march.”

“It’s not exactly that,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. His brow is furrowed. “I think Maryam is getting... tetchy. I... I heard things breaking inside the room you keep her bones in.”

“Ah,” Keris says. “Right. Yes.”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “I’ll go and talk to her. See if... if I can keep her placated. Two more weeks, and then she can wear me again and get her hands around her killers’ throats.” She forces a smile. “And that’ll make her happy. Happier than... than meeting me again did.”

Xasan reaches out. He wraps his big hands - the skin on one softer than the other - around Keris’, but he doesn’t have words. Keris tucks Kali and Ogin - both now asleep - a little closer into herself, and lets him hold her for a while.

The room she left the bones in - everything is broken. The bed is broken. The dressers have been overturned. The walls are scratched. There’s even long nail-gouges in the outside of the wooden box Keris keeps her mother’s remains in. She gulps. Keris has killed a demon lord tonight; pinned it down and poisoned it senseless and carved out its heart. Her mother’s ghost is far weaker; far less puissant, probably even less malicious.

But she has a hold over Keris that no demon outside her soul can claim.

“Mama,” she says quietly. “Mama, it’s me. It’s Keris.”

It’s nearing midday, so there’s no response. Keris sighs, running a hand along the scratches. It’s easy to read the story in them. Her mother is angry. She’s restless. She wants her revenge now, not to wait for another half-moon. It must have been bad tonight - the new moon, when she’ll have been at her most wild, her most furious.

“Just a little longer, mama,” she whispers. “Two more weeks, and then we’ll either have them lined up for you or we’ll track them down ourselves. Adami’s an ass, but he’s honourable, mama. He understands about revenge. He understands about a daughter’s duty. He _swore_ he’d gather them up for us, given a month, and when he does you can use my hands to kill them like they killed you. I promise.”

There’s still no response, but the mood in the room does change slightly. A tension that Keris wasn’t even sure was there before departs.

She strokes one of the scratches again. “Two weeks, mama. No more than that, and maybe less.” She pauses. “I love you.”

((Keris will spend her two weeks taking a cooperative strategic action along with Malek to expand the Piper’s Mist to work with any Allies or Backings who have authority over water, and learning it as part of the modifications.))

The next two weeks pass in a flurry of activity. Malek is more than happy to work on changing this ancient Shogunate spell to work with demonic allies too as long as she gets a copy of the notes, and Rathan is here to help with things. Keris is glad. It means she’s not thinking about her mother. Even so, it’ll be touch and go to get it done before her self-imposed deadline.

((How is Keris carrying out this strategic action? What’s her approach, as per that list of things I wrote up a while back - and as long as she uses both Rathan and Malek, she keeps it down to a Minor, not a Major))  
((... it’s so tempting to say ATHLETICS, MUSCLE MAGICIAN. But no, Keris will use Expression by going and playing to rivers and streams and ponds and listening to the soul-melodies of the gods of such places - who are not elementals, and yet have dominion over the water they govern - and by playing alongside Rathan as he commands the water to move and noting down the score of the essence-song she hears from it as he orders it to move by his will, and other such things. She’ll be using Untouched Whisperer Revelation and Time-Strung Harpist Style a lot.))  
((Okay, so this is Cog + Expression to study and learn the musics of water spirits and the songs of the Sea and weave the melodies into the spell, adding an odd, uncanny cadence to the spell in question. Base Diff 7, reduced by Malek’s library, Rathan’s help and Keris's superhuman hearing. Roll against Diff 4, no excellencies since it's strategic. No more than 1 style dice can come from demonic styles, or else Keris will twist the spell to just work from demons, not “all water-linked things”))  
((Can she apply Spirit-Charming Supplicant, since that’s also about buttering up the spirits to do what you want?))  
((Yes - this is explicitly about invoking the power of spirits. Stunt must be appropriate for any styles used, obviously.))  
((Bitching. Okay, 4+5+1 Time-Strung Harpist+1 Spirit-Charming Supplicant+2 stunt, spending a WP for an autosux=13. 6+1=7 sux, yay!))

Keris’s notes aren’t written things, but instead page after page of musical score. She takes her hair and every brand of instrument Malek can offer and she plays - to ponds and rivers and streams, to the Sea of her Domain, to the morning dew on the leaves of Malek’s manse, to the clouds and mist she can reach on Cissidy’s back. She plays to the least gods of puddles and the little gods of rivers and the demonic spirits of the Sea and Isles and to the demon lord that is her eldest son, learning the melodies that flatter them and beguile them as well as the essence-songs they use to command the waters they have command over.

Page after page of music, and all of it laden with occult truth - for these aren’t songs that men could hear, but the push and pull of magic and the sounds it makes to itself, reinforced and made audible on the strands of Time and in the praise-hymns of spirits. Every sheet is funnelled back to Malek and compared to the limited melodies that are used to draw up the Piper’s Mists through elemental aid alone, and slowly but surely the older occultist expands the breadth of the spell to include them.

It’s on the twelfth day, when Keris is getting decidedly edgy both about whether Ney will show up and whether she will have some damn success with this stupid spell when there’s a breakthrough.

This time, when she plays her wailing flute-song there’s more than just the wisps of fog she’s had before. This time thick fluffy white clouds come out from her pipe, smelling of the Sea, and the air tastes of salt. Everything around her is obscured - at least to anyone else’s eyes. But Keris’ can see right through the fog, and as a result she sees one of Malek’s servants sneak through the fog and then just... vanish just out of sight, somehow stopping moving in a way that means they just blend in perfectly with one of the low bushes. Or maybe they just vanished. She can’t tell. She can’t hear them or smell them or anything. She narrows her eyes. Malek’s servants, from what Keris has seen, cannot do that. But there’s a really _annoying_ man who can disguise himself as things that aren’t logically possible, and who _can_ probably hide about as well as her.

Careful to move silently, she slinks over to the bush, circling around it to approach from the direction opposite to the one she’d been in when the fog had risen. She tries to roughly judge how far a normal human could see in fog this thick, and doubles the distance, certain that Adami’s senses are better than mortal.

As soon as she’s in position and just out of probably-sight-range, she lunges, hair sweeping out to smack down on as much of the area around the bush as possible.

((Keris is trying to blindly grapple everything within three yards of the bush in the hopes that she’ll feel Ney and be able to punch him in the head a few times before yelling at him.))  
((Reaction + Awareness, touch-based.))  
((Enhancing with SSP; 14 dice, 9x2+4=22 sux.))

Ah hah! Keris’ hair sweeps across something that’s warm and alive, and she bundles it down, winding up kneeling on its chest.

She yanks off the veil of the plant-woman servant.

“Hiya, Kiss,” Ney says, spitting out his false wax lips while his free hand un-fastens the stolen uniform he’s wearing over his normal clothes. “It’s amazing how fast you’re riding me once we had some privacy. Nice to see you too.”

“My name is _Keris_ ,” she growls at him. “And you’re _late_.”

“Actually, Kiss, I’m early. I said a month, and this would be... well, I can’t see the sun, but it’s only been twenty-something days. When the something is less than eight.”

“A _gentleman_ would have been a _week_ early,” Keris says haughtily, flipping a hair-lock that’s not engaged in keeping him pinned down over her shoulder. “ _You_ are only two days ahead of time, which means you’re _late_. And you probably had to have someone give you a kick up the behind to get you here _that_ early.” She ‘hmmph’s; feeling great empathy for Asarin’s complaints about her Greater Self. Not that she likes Adami that way! He’s just annoying in the same way!

“You’re skulking around like a thief, too,” she says, ignoring the hypocrisy. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you to announce yourself properly when you arrive at someone’s household?”

((... is it possible I have too much fun writing tsun-Keris’s dialogue?))  
((not at all. Tsunderes are funderes)

“Yes, but Malek Qaja only lets me in when I’m invited,” he grins up at her. “And then I can’t sneak around, or see you in private without her wanting to be there. And that’s no fun. Hey, Kiss, have you noticed anything suspicious about her? Anything great that she might have to hide?”

“I thought you were the spymaster here,” Keris sniffs, giving his neck a threatening squeeze. “I don’t work for you, Adami. I’ve noticed a bunch about Malek, but nothing that concerns _you_.”

“She’s quite the looker, I know, despite her age and her tendency to make plant-duplicates of herself,” he says, smiling up at Keris despite the fact she’s got him pinned. “And Kiss, sweetie, there’s no need to caress my throat quite so hard. It’s meant to be a gentle gesture of love. One might think you don’t like me.”

She glares down at him, frustrated at how this... this _annoying_ man is never scared of her even when she’s on top. O-of their fights! And she can’t even hurt him for being irritating, because he has information she needs!

“I _don’t_ like you,” she mutters sullenly, rolling off him and standing. “And my name is _Keris_. Not Kiss. Can you not manage two syllables, Adami?”

He flaps his hand at her. “Two syllables is just so much effort, you know? It’s unfair I have to put twice as much effort into your name as you do into mine.” He reaches behind him and puts on fur-lined gloves. “Brr, it’s cold and damp in here. Funny magic you’re playing with. Calling mists by playing the pipe? I can think of a lot of uses for that. Did you learn it here from Malek?”

“Half from her,” Keris brags smugly. “I improved it. Her version could only call on elementals to raise the mists for her. This new one can invoke any spirit or being with authority over water. Even Shermine might qualify, actually. And I can think of even more uses than you can.” She grins. “I like the mists. I’m not bothered by thick fog blocking off vision.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Really? I can only see a short distance in front of my feet. It must be a powerful and dangerous talent you’ve learned. Something far beyond someone like me.”

Eko points out mockingly in Keris’ head that he seemed to be walking around just fine in his disguise, so she thinks he’s playing a prank on poor mama Kiss.

“Oh, shut up,” she grumps, shoving him. “Obviously they don’t work on _you_. You’re annoying. But against ships and forts back home, this will help a lot. Now if I drag you inside and force some tea into you, are you going to tell me what you promised to find out?”

Ney shrugs. “Assuming you don’t decide to pin me down and have your wicked, hell-tainted way with me here and now, I suppose that’s the second best alternative,” he says, winking at her.

A very faint flush comes to Keris’s cheeks at... certain memories, which she hides by wheeling away with another ‘hmmph!’ and marching off towards the manse, sending a hair-tendril back to snag him by the collar and drag him along behind her.

He naturally goes limp, like a recalcitrant child being dragged around like their mother - though after about a hundred metres of that, he grows bored and walks on his own.

“Did you have to drag me through that puddle?” he complains as they near the manse.

“Yes,” Keris smirks. “It cleaned some of the annoyingness off you.”

((Oh, heh. Okay, now it’s time for the Fun Fun roll of “how unlucky is Keris”, where she rolls something to see how many members of her entourage are safely tucked away where Ney won’t see them on the way in and through the manse. Presumably the more successes she gets, the more innocuous the people he sees are, with “lots” being nobody at all or, like, Xasan, who’s kind of expected, and “failure” or “botch” being “they walk right into Rathan and Calesco playing with the twins”.))  
((Okay, heh, roll her Reaction + “I love my family”))  
((5+3+2 Coadj for Dulmea-mama having thought of this as soon as Ney showed up if she’s watching=10. 8 successes, yay! That might be enough to keep everyone out of sight.))  
((Even if a botch would have been hilarious.))

Fortunately, Keris chose things well and took Ney over to where her uncle has tended to spend the afternoons on the sunny side of the house, lifting weights as he tries to get back into shape and drinking wine. He’s usually a little tipsy, but he’s the safest - probably - member of her family he could meet.

Although, uh, he could decide to start trying to make sure Ney is suitable for Keris. Or alternatively trying to get them married.

The older man is working on his regrown arm when Keris finds him, trying to toughen up the skin and burn off the fat he has.

“Xasan!” she calls when she sees him. A small vindictive part of her hopes that he’s going to rake Ney over the coals to make sure he’s ‘worthy’ of her. “Uncle Xasan!” She drags Ney over. “This is Ney Adami; the one I told you about. Adami, this is my uncle, Xasan. He has a right to know what you’re here to tell me, too. My mother was his sister. Uh. Sort of.”

Comparing the two, Keris is reminded that no, Ney isn’t ‘pure’ Harbourhead - that he’s from the border area where things are more mixed. He’s paler than Xasan, though still darker than Keris. Xasan squares up to the newcomer, while Ney just gives him a cheerful, albeit lazy wave. “Nice to meet you,” Ney says. “Keris’ told me almost nothing about you and wants me to know nothing about your existence. But at least now she’s taking me back to meet the relatives.”

((... lol, 2 successes))

From Xasan’s expression, Ney’s usual wit has fallen far short and hasn’t impressed the man.

Keris watches with a vicious glee. “I got the drop on him as he tried to sneak up here in disguise,” she contributes happily. “So that’s payback for him catching me around the town.”

((Oh Keris. She’s feeling all smug and superior.))

“So, by the looks of you... mmm, mid-highlander, probably came over to Taira before the death of the Shah, served in the armies until you stopped being paid?” Ney checks.

“It was your master who stopped paying me,” Xasan says coldly. “I haven’t forgotten that Naib Matah was once regent. And that he is a distant cousin of the shahbanu and doesn’t stand by his kin.”

“Focus less on the past,” Keris snaps, less amused by this turn of the conversation. “Adami. You came here to tell us what you’d found. So talk.”

Ney leans in, and pours himself some wine - and some for Keris, too. “So, the first thing you have to understand is that the records this old might not be perfect, even if I am,” he shoots a twinkling grin at Keris. “I can only work off them. So, five men named Kallash entered Malra during the period you mentioned. However, I could count out two of them from details you mentioned - wrong time of year, or too tall. That left three candidates. One of them died after two years in a rockfall. One of them was selected as a tutor for a rich family’s children in the capital - he still lives there, as far as the records say. The third one earned his freedom and moved, marrying another ex-slave. I’ve made notes of the last known locations of all three, so you can check the leads.”

“And the men who murdered my mother?” Keris growls, intent.

Ney clasps his fingers together. “Ah, now that’s a little complicated,” he says. “As far as I can tell, most of that band died not long after the most likely date of that raid. They came back through the same path, and were killed by something Dead.” He looks seriously at Keris. “Most likely the Dead thing you encountered in that same path.”

“Maryam’s vengeance,” Keris nods, satisfied. “Most. But not all?”

He spreads his hands. “Low-ranking people - caravan guards and the like - get hired and fired without any formal paperwork or records. I can’t say if everyone was there, but everyone important - the caravan master, the quarter master, and so on - was. But,” he raises one finger, “so that you don’t feel like I have cheated a daughter looking for revenge for her mother from her blood, I will tell you this. As far as I can tell, now-Istandar Pazyryk Lak was the one who owned the most likely caravan.”

“An Istandar?” Xasan says, scowling. “And what, you’re just giving us him as a target?”

“One man’s death to settle a blood feud? Yes. He’s a coward who grew fat and wealthy off buying slaves from warriors,” Ney says. “His life is worth less than other men. Although, the naib might disagree so I do ask that if you feel your vengeance extends to him, it extends more quietly.”

“Ist-istandar?” Keris repeats, glancing at Xasan for help. She’s picked up some of the Tairan dialect, but that word escapes her.

Xasan glances at her. “Leader of an istan - a province, a district, below a greater naib,” he explains. “A lot of the naibs in this civil war were not so beforehand.”

“Every little ruler wants to call himself a naib,” Ney agrees. He frowns. “It is... it is not a title of nobility, but it is an appointment by someone to rule land under you.”

Keris nods, absorbing that. A land-ruler, then - a lesser-noble. That... that might well sate her mother.

“And where is he?” she asks; her fingers and hair already twitching. “How far?”

“Resident in the capital,” Ney says. “His istan is close to the capital, so he lives there instead. I don’t exactly blame him. The naib has made the capital a wonder to live in. Of course, when I spend too long there he starts getting sarcastic about how I’m not doing my job and I can only fob him off for so long about counter-intelligence work. La la, such a pain.”

“Then,” Keris murmurs, “I suppose we’re going to the capital.” She cracks her knuckles. “Ra- uh, wrapping up our business here won’t take long, I’ve been getting us ready to leave for the past week. We can probably set out at first light tomorrow morning.” She looks Ney up and down cautiously. “And you? Where will you be going?”

Ney shrugs. “I don’t know. Depends if I get any screaming messages from Mashy or Taym telling me to stop lazing around and deal with some bushfire on the border.” He looks Keris up and down. “I mean, I’d like to spend that time courting you, but you’ll probably be in a serious and blood-thirsty mood and so wouldn’t be in the mood for some light-hearted distraction. You’d probably be a drag to be around.”

((9 successes on Per + Pres passive-aggressive attempt to coax Keris into at the very least demonstrating she’d not a drag.))

“I’m not a drag!” Keris snaps at him. “And... and even if I was, I’m _avenging my mother!_ Of course I’m going to be... I mean, of course I’ll be serious about it, now that I have a lead! And when I _didn’t_ have a lead, I was perfect company to be around, and... urgh, just shut up!” She glares. “I wouldn’t even want you to tag along, anyway. You’d just stick your nose into everything. And try to figure out all my secrets. And get in the way.”

“You’re such a cruel woman,” he says sadly. “Well, you know, if you were looking for somewhere to stay, and could tolerate my presence, you could always come with me to my townhouse in the capital. As my guest, of course, nothing more. Unless you wanted to be.”

“What are you trying to imply?” Xasan fumes. “What are you trying to do to my niece?!”

Keris grins again at the sign of Adami getting in trouble, then immediately loses any trace of levity at the realisation that she never actually told Xasan she’d slept with the man. Would he be such an asshole as to out her to her uncle?

... yes. Yes he would.

“He’s goading you, uncle,” she says hastily. “He’s annoying and likes poking at people who could _stab him if he irritates them too much_ , like I told you. Just ignore him; he’s not worth the trouble. I can outfight him, anyway, so he couldn’t do anything to me even if he tried.” A glare that could strip paint from rock makes a strong case for why Ney shouldn’t disagree.

((dammit he totally noticed that sudden reversal))

He gives her an innocent look, as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth - and as if he considers her sudden change of mind to be a great success. “Why, honoured uncle,” he says, “your niece is an extraordinarily beautiful woman who’s fascinating to be around. Of course I’d like to court her, if she was so inclined.” He adds several more layers of flattery, aiming them more at Keris than Xasan.

((8 successes of flirting))  
((This man wants in Keris’ pants. Which she does not wear. :v))

Keris flushes - again - and stands abruptly, clearing her throat. “I... um... I should drag him in front of Malek so she knows he snuck onto her estate again,” she says, all in one breath. “Uncle, if you could go and get... uh, get my children ready to go? I’ll be along once Lady Qaja is keeping an eye on _him_.” Grabbing Adami by the collar again, she drags him off before either man can protest, determinedly not looking at him until they’re out of sight.

Then she wheels around and slams him against a wall. Relatively gently.

“Okay,” she says, huffing in annoyance and pacing back and forth in front of him. “You’re being all... all curious and flirty. And you obviously want... I mean, you’d... you’re thinking of what... what happened.” Her blush deepens a shade. “And you want to poke your nose around and figure out everything else I’m hiding because you’re annoying, _so_. What are the chances, if I say ‘no, go be annoying at someone else on the border’, that you’ll just follow my barge anyway and spy on me and my babies? And probably arrange to run into me in a bunch of different stupid disguises, like random washerwomen stringing clothes up beside the river and old men fishing from the banks and other ridiculous things like that?”

“Hey, not all random washerwomen would be me,” Ney protests. He pauses. “Some of them would be my legion of secret commando-scouts, also dressed as washerwomen. Actually I pride myself on my secret commando-scouts doing their own washing, and some of them are women, so is that really a disguise if they really are women and they really are washing things? It’s hardly my fault if you misunderstand what they are.”

Keris glares flatly at him.

“Is that a confession that you’d spy on me if I didn’t let you come along?” she demands. “Unbelievable! You could at least deny it! Rrrgh.”

((I was totally going to have her accuse him of lying if he’d denied it. : P))

“I’m just too honest for my own good,” he says, shaking his head sadly. “It’s one of my great flaws.”

This earns him another, slightly less flat glare. Keris paces some more, and grumbles.

“I don’t trust you around my babies,” she says eventually. “You haven’t done anything to hurt me - or to try and hurt me - but you’re annoying and smart and I can’t be sure of you. But... urgh, you’ll be following me either way, so you’ll be spying on them regardless. And I probably need directions to the capital anyway.”

There’s some more pacing, which might more accurately be called ‘stomping’. The grumbling develops quiet, muttered profanities.

“I consider it less ‘spying’ and more ‘providing another set of eyes for you, sometimes directed at you’,” he adds helpfully. “Though honestly you keep on making such a big deal about me not getting to see aforementioned babies that I might think you’re deliberately fanning my curiosity.”

Keris grinds her teeth. She can’t very much tell him that her twins aren’t the only babies she’s wary of him seeing. But it’s impossible, if he’ll be tagging along, to keep him from finding out.

“Come on,” she grumps. “Lady Qaja will want to know you’re here.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to bother her,” he says. “She’d probably get annoying and accuse me of breaking into her library and stealing things again. Which is nonsense. I was never in her library in the date she accused me of doing it. That was actually a moon chosen I was chasing who did it, and then I stole the scrolls off them. Anyway, the point is I’d rather not have thorns rammed into various sensitive bits of my anatomy, so I was probably just going to leave. Unless you wanted to give me a goodbye kiss-and-a-bit more. Anyway, if you decide you want to meet up, all sorcerers seem to be able to send those cherub message thingies so you probably can to, so tell me a town you want to meet in. I’ll come with a rose in my teeth serenading you with all my musical skill.”

Ah ha, Eko observes! He’s lying there, because Malek _doesn’t have scrolls!_ She has plant leaves! Case closed!

“I could drag you in front of her anyway,” Keris suggests, with a sweet, poisonous smile. “I’d quite like to see you get yelled at and attacked by thorns and roses. And you’re lying about the library and the moon-chosen. I can tell.”

Then it occurs to her that bringing him into the manse where her children are might not be a good idea, and furthermore that someone as good at picking clues out of thin air might get some dangerous conclusions from seeing Malek. She sighs. “But fine, if you want to sneak off, I suppose I’ll let you. And...” she wrinkles her nose, but concedes, “... thank you. For the information. I promised my mother we’d be moving by the half moon, so I’m glad you followed through.”

“No, thank you. For such witty conversation and such a bracingly spiky personality,” he says, with a broad smile.

((10 successes, beating Keris’ dodge DV))

And then he wraps one hand around her waist and uses the other to sweep her down into a low and incredibly melodramatic kiss. The kind you might see in bawdy street shows telling the tale of star-crossed lovers in Nexus or Saata.

Keris’ mind is whirring, but the thing she notices all along is that his mouth tastes of mint which means he must have prepared for this all along. For a moment she melts into the kiss with nothing more than a surprised squeak and a happy purr.

Then her brain catches up and she shifts her weight with an indignant yell to try and flip him over her and onto his back.

((I... think that’s an opposed clinch? Probably Physique+Melee either way, so 5+5+2 stunt=12; 3 sux. She’s too kiss-dazed to make a good job of it, heh.))

Surprisingly, her inexpert and kiss-shocked throw works, and he goes flying through the air. Rather further than he actually should have, actually - and he tucks and rolls to straighten up with a bow. “See you later, Kiss,” he says, before vanishing in a blur of flash-fast motion. Staring after him for a few moments in a mixture of shock and sullenness, Keris spends a good half-minute or so gaping uselessly before snapping out of it and retreating inside, muttering in annoyance all the way.

She has preparations to make if they’re to leave by dawn. And plans, too. When Keris checks her beltpurse later, though, she finds that he’s snuck a little golden hair ornament in there. Perhaps it’s a replacement for what he stole last time. It’s solid gold, and it’s shaped like a stylised goat’s head.

Eko’s laughter fills Keris’ skull.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s raining when Keris leaves Malek Qaja’s estate. The lady of the house has come to see her off, as well as Pardis. Pardis isn’t happy to see her new best friend go, although Calesco disagrees with her status there.

While Calesco tries to dodge hugs without hurting the other girl’s feelings, Malek approaches Keris. “I thought to give you some tea for your trip. It’s a sweet and smoked mint blend,” she says, passing over a sizable pouch. “I owe you for your assistance. A shame we couldn’t come to a deal over that pretty gem, but I suspect we can talk about that later. You are always welcome at my mansion.”

“If you’re ever down in the Southwest, send Rounen a Messenger,” Keris offers in return, accepting the tea and sniffing at it with interest. It’s good. “You’ll be welcome in my home and we can talk theory some more.”

“I may well visit,” Malek says, nodding. “I need to acquire more specimens and breeds for my work, and it’ll do Pardis good to travel and get to see more of the world.”

“It will!? I mean, obviously it will!” Pardis says, perking up and springing away from Calesco to look up at her mother and Keris with puppy eyes. 

“I’ll be happy to see you too,” Keris tells her, smiling. “And we’ll see if there are any other projects we can work on if Calesco’s not around when you visit.” This earns a grateful glance from Calesco, who Keris is betting has _definite plans_ not to be around should Pardis ever come knocking.

“Good, good. Well, fare well, then. I’d ride with you some distance, but,” Malek looks up, “it’s raining and I’ve got work I need to do while the ground is still wet.”

“I understand,” says Keris. “Fare well.”

Her barge is sitting ready in the river; sculpted into unassuming mien like the last one. Her entourage is already onboard, and she has the rough direction of the capital. For more... sigh. She’ll have to call on Ney. He’s going to spy on her and meet her babies anyway. At least this way she can keep an eye on him while he does.

“Rathan, Calesco?” she asks, hopping onboard. “Can you get Oula and Xasan? We need to talk about where we’re going next.”

They gather down in the comfortable ship’s galley, reclining on leaf-seats. Keris exchanged words with Malek about how to best use this spell, and the older woman gave her some advice on features it was easy to weave in.

“So, fair way to go to get to Malra,” Xasan says, voice rough. He was drinking heavily last night and he’s still hungover. “Sixty kilometres up and down stream, and from what I’ve heard, they have locks to get up to there.”

“We’ll have... urgh,” mutters Keris. “A guide. Of sorts.” She nods at Xasan, who was there for Adami’s offer. If his expression is anything to go by, he’s guessed who she means.

“Really? Him?” Xasan says, eyes narrowed.

“Me? I’m a wonderful guide,” Rathan pipes up.

“Urgh, you’re so self-centred,” Calesco gripes. “Obviously they’re talking about someone else. Not everything is about you.”

((Amusingly, I was going to do Xasan’s dialogue and that was word-for-word what I had him saying.))

“Yes, uncle, him,” Keris sighs. “Okay, Rathan, Calesco. You remember the Solar from the first town? Well, he’s an annoying, lazy, irreverent, frustratingly clever, too-curious-for-his-own-good, stupidly fast, unfairly-good-at-thieving...” she hesitates. “Where was I going with this? Oh, right. Yeah, so, he showed up again at Malek’s to give us the information on where Papa might be and the name and location of the man who owned the slave caravan that killed Mama. That’s the good news. The bad news is that he’s... urgh, _interested_ in me. Uh, in us. Interested with the curiosity, I mean.” She makes a face. “I may have gone a bit too far warning him off, so now he wants to know what I’m hiding. And he knows where we’re going, so if we try to sneak there he’ll just spy on us and find out about you and Kali and Ogin anyway. _So_...”

She sighs heavily. “So, I’m going to invite him onto the boat. Because then at least I’ll be able to watch him for trying anything funny, and we’ll also have a guide who knows where we’re going and might help speed us up a bit - and can get us through all the locks and things without any suspicion. All we have to do is put up with him and his annoyingness for the trip.”

Two sets of eyes; one red, one pearly, lock on Keris. She gets the distinct feeling they’re judging her.

Rathan shrugs. “Well, no wonder he likes you. You’re you. It’s like liking me. It’s easy.”

“... urgh I hate you,” Calesco mutters, before turning her attention back on Keris. “Hanging around with a sun-child? That’s dangerous. They’re things of brightly burning light, without any shadows to mute them.” She pauses. “And why _is_ he helping you anyway?”

“...” says Keris. “Okay. Uh. Firstly, he’s annoying and... fine, he’s also interested in me. Like, _interested_ interested. Because I’m pretty and mysterious and ‘bracingly spiky’, whatever that means. But also he’s Harbourite,” she nods at Xasan again, who grunts in something that’s half affirmation, half dismissal, “and worked out that I’m on a daughter-quest for my mother. He understands that. And he knows I could do a lot of damage to Malra if I was just running all over doing what mama told me to, so he went and found the slaver who owned the caravan to minimise the damage to one man.”

She bites her lip, wondering if she should share the parts she’s hiding. Well, not the sex. They really don’t need to know about the sex. But the part where she’d told him about their past lives.

((Roll for Calesco to notice she’s keeping something back, lol.))   
((lol, 11 successes))

Calesco seems to put something together. “Mama,” she gasps, turning bright red. “You didn’t! We... we only left you alone for... for... for one night! Not even a whole n-n-night!”

Keris’s cheeks go bright scarlet, which rather invalidates her half-sputtered denials. “I didn’t- we, we weren’t- I mean, that’s not what- it wasn’t...”

“Is he cute?” asks Calesco - wait, no, that’s Kuha.

“Kuha!” Calesco gasps.

“What? He’s a sun-chosen! He’s probably literally divine in bed,” Kuha cackles. “Nice one, Kerishyra!”

Oula carefully sips her tea. “Well, I’m sure Aunty Keris had fun,” she says, directing a wicked glance at the furiously blushing Calesco and the decidedly uncomfortable Rathan.

“It’s fine as long as we don’t wind up with more babies to look after,” Rathan mumbles. “It’s bad enough with just Kali and Ogin.”

Kali apparently recognises her name, and blows a raspberry at Rathan. Or possibly just makes a farting noise with her mouth, and then starts giggling hysterically.

Keris picks her up and plants a kiss on her forehead, then swings her around in the air - she likes pretending to fly - until the mortification recedes a bit.

“So, uh,” she says, gathering Ogin into her lap and offering him a couple of hair tendrils, which he takes in his adorable little fingers and intently starts mashing together. “Yes. Um. Things happened that night. He’s annoying, but he can be... charming, I guess. And we talked about... well, the past. I told him a few things about what the Solars before were like, and that shook him. A lot. I think he’s partly interested to know if... well, not if I was telling the truth, because I was and he knows it. But... how not to become that, I suppose.” She keeps her eyes fixed on Ogin’s chubby little hands and tiny fingers. He’s so _small_ , sometimes it makes her heart hurt just from how much she adores him. “For what it’s worth... he guessed I have some demon in me from my hair pretty easily, and didn’t even blink.”

“Maybe he just wanted some demon in him!” Kuha cackles, still finding it hilarious.”

“Kuha!” Calesco snaps.

Keris makes a pained little sound and puts her face in her hands. “ _Anyway_ ,” she says, muffled. “I’ll send Rounen to tell him to meet with us. He knows Xasan, he knows that the twins exist but nothing about them.” She lifts her head up a little, nodding at Rathan, Oula and Calesco. “He doesn’t know about you three, but he’ll find out whether he’s spying or travelling with us, so this way lets us at least dictate how he finds out. And have me there ready in case he takes it badly. Everyone understand?”

“How much does he actually know about demons?” Rathan asks. “Can me an’ Cally just pass ourselves off as gods - or, well, maybe a god-blood or something if she leaves Kuha in charge?”

Keris shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. It’s certainly worth a try, but he read that I’d given birth - and was feeding two babies, not one - just from looking at my figure. I don’t _think_ he can sniff out what flavour someone’s essence is like me and Haneyl can, but he might be able to tell just from being _infuriatingly clever_ even without it.” She considers. “I’d say do your best, but don’t be surprise if he comes out with it casually and uses it to prod at you. He worked out _I’m_ Hellish - that’s part of why he sent me to Malek.” She neglects to explain exactly how he’d worked it out. That’s a detail nobody here needs.

“Well, make sure to tell me what he’s like in every... uh, nearly every way,” Rathan says. “I haven’t met anyone I can’t wind around my finger if I really try.”

“You’ll pay for that some day,” Calesco says.

“Nah.” Rathan sprawls out further. “Are we done here? Anything else you want to tell us, mama? Did you also fall for that Lunar you met back around Eshtock?”

“Illana? Gods, no,” Keris glowers. “Besides, she had that nosy godblooded girlfriend. Who tried to whammy me with something. And gave me a... an address somewhere in Great Forks, I think, if I ever wanted to talk to her again for some reason.” She screws her nose up. “No, nobody else. I could give you a rough idea of what he’s like, but honestly you’ve already heard most of it.”

“Mmm. Well, if that’s everything, I’m going to go make my quarters comfortable, set us on course, and then probably take a nap.”

“It’s not even midday. You’re just doing this to annoy me,” Calesco says acidly.

“My goodness, she catches on,” Rathan grins.

Keris leaves them to it, and calls Rounen out on the deck of the barge. “You liked Malek’s library, then?” she asks, crouching down to be on his level and grinning at him. “I barely saw you for most of our stay there.”

“Mmm.” He’s got a satchel of books on his back, and when he pulls her into cover, he starts pulling out unbound leaves and showing her what he copied down. “She wouldn’t let me near everything, but I still went there when you were distracting her,” he explains. “I read... I read a lot of things.”

Keris flicks through the leaves. There’s a lot of scattered things, unfortunately. Parts of spells, half pages of notes - things that show he didn’t really understand what he was reading so just grabbed things which looked complicated. It might be of use some day if she has a few months to sit down and sort through them properly and try to build things up from this detritus, but right now it’s just scattered things and...

... ooh, look at that. Keris finds what appears to be some kind of nearly complete tome on demonology. “The Indigo Seal,” she reads.

“It was all about demons,” Rounen says, not sounding all that eager. “I read it all. It wasn’t a fun book, but maybe you’d want to know it.”

“... what’s wrong?” she asks, frowning. “You sound upset.”

“I read a lot of books. I mean, a lot. Stuff no other sziromkeruby have ever read,” Rounen explains. He doesn’t _look_ well, she realises. His flames are dim, and his petals look shrivelled up. Like a plant that hasn’t been watered enough. “The books... are demons _bad_?”

“No!” is Keris’s first response. “... uh, well,” is her second, immediately following it. “Maybe some? The same way as some humans are bad. Or, hell, some gods are bad.” She considers some more. “Actually, probably closest to the way some Exalted are bad. It’s easy for the really powerful ones to forget - or never know - that weaker things matter.” She pulls him close, covertly looking over him and tasting his essence for any source of malady. “Books written by humans, sweetheart... they probably aren’t going to be unbiased. You know that, right?”

“But... but... but almost all the demons in the books are bad,” he says. “The demon lords are bad, the demons they make are bad - there are deer made of worms who are just made to trick hunters into being eaten by them, and,” he snivels, “people are scared of them! Even the people who summon them - so much of the book was about not being killed by the demon you summon.”

“Oh... oh, darling,” Keris sighs. She squeezes him lightly. “You know, angyalkae are demons. Proper demons from Hell, I mean - they’re in my Domain because Dulmea was one, and she made more of them in there for company. Are they bad? Not the angyals - they’re Dulmea’s - just the normal harpists?”

“Sometimes their songs are bad,” he says, “and even when I’m dancing to them things don’t feel right. And... and I’m not liking dancing as much either.” He sways where he’s sitting. “I need to eat something,” he decides. “I’ve just been reading so much. I don’t think I’ve eaten in...” he frowns. “Some days,” he decides.

Keris frowns. “That’s... worrying, sweetheart. You haven’t been eating, and your fires are getting dim...” She bites her lip. “I was going to ask you to carry a message, but now I’m getting worried you’re ill or something. Come on, here, I’ll take you down to the galley and we can feed you.”

“Mum, do I have to be a demon?” he asks. “I don’t want people to be scared of me. That sounds horrible if everyone I meet is scared of me. And people screamed when I was helping Kerisa try to find her parents. I thought they were scared of her, but maybe they were scared of me and I was ruining it for her.” His shoulders slump. “What it’s my fault?” he wonders, fires dimming further. His head’s got bigger, Keris realises. When did that happen? His head is bulging, like a water bladder with too much fluid in it.

“It’s not...” she babbles, patting at him helplessly, “it’s not your fault, listen to me, it’s not your fault and not everyone is scared of you; Malek wasn’t scared of you, Xasan isn’t, Zanyira wasn’t...”

Rounen just mumbles something. His fire is just embers, but despite that his petal skin is withering as she watches. It’s like he’s both being quenched and drying out at the same time, and... that doesn’t even make sense.

Desperately, Keris plunges root-tendrils into his skin, listens to the song of his essence, tries to save him...

... only it’s not that his essence is fading, as if he was dying, Keris realises with a sigh of relief. In fact, it might be getting stronger - she’s not sure, because it’s irregular. But it is withering in some ways and growing in others. She can hear it.

It’s... it’s like a three note harmony is losing two of its notes and the other - which was already the strongest - is getting louder to compensate. Or maybe it’s just drowning out the others.

((Essence is still Haneylish, but it’s also in flux))

“Rounen?” she asks desperately, her panic subsiding only slightly. “Rounen, can you hear me? Say something for me, Rounen? Please?”

He’s not responding. He’s... he’s like a dried-out husk. His fire is barely embers, and he’s so _parched_. If she couldn’t hear him, she might think he was dead.

But he’s not dead. He’s not, because she can hear his essence, and it’s getting _stronger_ , not weaker, so... so...

Keris scoops him into her arms, struggling to breathe. She doesn’t need to, but it’s something to distract her from the terror. Carrying him carefully-carefully-carefully downstairs, she lays him in a bed, steps back, and tries to think.

Right. Right, okay. He’s... he’s a kerub, and his essence is changing and growing, so... so...

“Oula!” Keris hollers as loudly as she can. She’s not letting Rounen out of her sight to go get her. “Oula, come here right now!”

There’s a patter of feet, and Oula comes running, comb still in hand. “What is it, Aunty?” she says. “I was just doing my h... oh!” She blanches on seeing Rounen, pursing coral-red lips. “What happened to him? Are we under attack?”

“I don’t... no, I don’t think so,” Keris says with forced calm. “He... he’s not been eating, and his fires have been guttering. But he’s not dead. His essence is... changing, somehow. I think - I _hope_ \- it might be like what happened to you. What... what did it feel like, when you tore your cape off?”

Oula relaxes somewhat. “Um. Well, I mean, we’d had that talk the evening before and you said I could grow up and be pretty like you - boy, you were telling the truth - and then I just sort of relaxed and I saw Rathan properly, the real him, and it all made... sense, you know? It was the most calming and beautiful and lovely and...” she sighs, and pauses. “But I could also feel... feel that I had to balance out the love with hate. If it didn’t feel so good and so calm, it would have really hurt a lot,” she says thoughtfully.

“Okay. So there was... it wasn’t all comfortable? You formed an egg... and you said your cape bled, too.” Keris breathes out shakily again. “Okay. Okay, then. I think that’s what’s happening here. Eko will be upset. But it should be... he should wake up after a day, if it’s the same as with you.” She nods firmly. “So I’ll sit here and wait.”

Oula pulls a face. “Maybe somewhere warm,” she suggests. “I mean, maybe the fire doesn’t like the water, if he was already sick. And maybe feed him something? Sziromkeruby like cooked things that burn your mouth really badly from having way too many spices.”

“Good idea,” Keris agrees. “Okay, I’ll... I’ll take him down to the lower decks where all the organ-bits are. It’s warm down there. And out of the way. And...” she hesitates, torn between preparing a meal for him and not leaving his side. “Can... can you bring some of the food stores down to me? I’ll make him something down there.”

Keris tries to feed him, but he’s not chewing. So she resorts to slipping the food into him with her flesh-weaving tendrils.

There’s no change by morning. No change for the better, at least. His fire has gone out. To all appearances, he’s a dried-out corpse.

Calesco finds Keris. “Mama,” she says gently. “Kuha and I can watch him. We can entertain each other, and the babies need sunlight and to be out of this humid place. What are you going to do with your Ney, too, now this’s come up?”

“I can... I can send Cissidy with a message, if I need to,” Keris croaks. “She’s bonded to me like he... is. _Is_ ,” she repeats, firmer. “I just... I don’t know if I want him here. While... this.”

Calesco cuddles up to her mother. “It says very good things about you that you’re worried about a single demon. One you only took into your service because you were curious why he wasn’t changing, unlike all the others you got to give me.” She sighs. “I don’t want to suggest it, but have you tried talking to Eko? She might have an explanation. You might not understand it, but at least you’ll have one.”

“I think he’s changing like Oula did - and she’s not happy about that. She wants hers to change too. She’s been yelling at them,” Keris admits. “We talked about it. And she’s also not happy right now because of... uh, Firisutu.”

A thought occurs to her, and she pouts. “He’s not _my_ Ney, either.”

Keris gets a knowing, yet blushing look from her daughter. “You like him. More than you did Lelabet. I don’t get what you see in men, but you came back really happy after that night. I wondered what it was and thought it was just because you’d got information about grandmother, but... um, maybe you were feeling. Um. Neglected.”

This garners an embarrassed shrug. Keris rolls things over in her head for a bit longer, and nods.

“You’re... you’re right, I suppose. I should go up and give the twins some fresh air.” She pauses. “You’ll... you’ll call me if anything happens. Right? Anything at all.”

“Yes. And make sure you get some sleep too, mama.” Calesco gives her another, closer hug. “You won’t be any use if something bad happens and you’re exhausted and not thinking straight,” she says seriously.

“... I’ll try,” is all Keris can promise on that front. She stays up anyway. Waiting. Hoping, fervently, that this will be the same as Oula and Rounen will be up and about and awake again by the next evening.

He isn’t. His essence is still changing, the fire and hunger dying, the other part - the bookishness, she supposes - strengthening.

Keris maybe screams at him a little bit, that evening. Begging him to wake up. Demanding that he get better.

It doesn’t help. So that night, she takes stock of where they are and calls out Cissidy.

“Rounen... Rounen is ill at the moment,” she tells her steed. “So I need you to carry a message for me instead, okay? To Ney Adami. Will you?”

I DON’T KNOW WHERE HE IS, Cissidy’s ribbons say as she shakes her head sadly.

“I can help with that. **_Say this unto him_** , okay?” Keris commands, beginning to weave sorcery around her. She’ll be galloping even faster than usual, with this magic buoying her up. “Ney. We’re following the river to the capital in a paddlebarge. We passed... I don’t know; the town with the high spire next to the river that’s all tiled in pinkish violet - I didn’t catch its name, but we passed it this early morning. I’m sure you can work out where to be to meet us. You can get your spying in then,” she finishes, feeling a little better at the jab. “And don’t bring any of your washerwomen with you. _Or_ washer-men.” She strokes Cissidy’s mane. The ribbon-horse’s ribbons are gleaming, and seem to have multiplied - the new ones floating around her like an aura and rippling with power. Her hooves are glowing bright white.

“ ** _Go in my name, and speak with my voice,_** ” Keris says, and watches as Cissidy vanishes into the distance like a shot from Calesco’s bow. From the leaf-hammock on deck, Ogin coos in appreciation of the pretty lights, and Keris smiles at him as she gathers the pair of them up again.

“Time for food,” she whispers, and tries to focus on the children she can tend to now, rather than the one lying inert below.

The children are, by all indications, enjoying their boat ride. Mama is there, they’re fed and given constant attention, and there are funny things to see. She’s feeding Kali while playing tickle-the-tail with Ogin who’s chortling happily when Cissidy returns. 

Ogin immediately rolls over and starts enthusiastically trying to grab at the pretty ribbons. Maybe he feels some affinity for them being like his tails.

I HAVE NOT BEEN THAT FAST BEFORE, Cissidy imparts to Keris. IT WAS WONDERFUL.

Keris grins at her. “Did you speak, or use your ribbon-words? I wasn’t sure which it would be.”

YOUR VOICE CAME FROM ME. IT WAS VERY STRANGE, Cissidy spells out, shaking her head horsily

“Well, you weren’t gone long, and that means he’s probably close. About half an hour, there and back...” Keris considers how far she can get in fifteen minutes when she’s drawing on Vali. “I’d guess thirty, forty miles away? He’ll probably be here by tomorrow morning. Which means these two need to go to bed. Do you want to run around some more, or visit Rounen, or rest for a while?”

Cissidy manages to somehow look hard-enduring as far as a horse made of ribbons can. Maybe it’s because Ogin has started chewing on her ribbons. Leaning in, she gives him a velvety lick on the face, which leaves him looking bemused. I THINK I WILL REST, she spells out.

Keris grins and holds Kali out - in little-girl form, at the moment. “Do her too, would you? She’ll like it, and it’ll mean she sleeps easily tonight. Honestly, I could use the rest as well.” Kali giggles as two more licks are dispensed, and Keris hugs Cissidy around the neck, already feeling the tiredness coming on.

“Come on then, you two,” she says, stifling a yawn. “Downstairs we go.”

She remembers to tell Rathan - through another yawn - that Ney will probably be showing up sometime during the following morning, and to have Xasan stall him if she’s not awake by then. And then she’s off, with her babies curled into her, in a deep and dreamless sleep.

Keris wakes from her peaceful rest to a thinness of air and a light-headedness. There’s a pressure on her throat - and on her chest.

She opens her eyes and her mother is kneeling there, hands around her throat. “Wake up, Keris,” Maryam rasps. “It is still night.”

“Mama?” she murmurs sleepily. Her eyes drift shut again.

...

Her eyes slam open. “ _Mama_ ,” she gasps, words rising up in a torrent. “We found who did it! We’re on our way to him right now! I was going to tell you as soon as I found out, but I had to get everyone ready to leave, and it was daytime and you were asleep, and then Rou- Rounen...” She shakes her head and her hair rustles over Maryam’s hands, tugging at them. “But we know who did it! The man who owned the caravan, the one who... who got all the money from it. He’s an istandar now. We’re going to kill him. _You’re_ going to kill him.”

“It’s been so long,” Maryam says. Her gargling, ruined voice boils in her throat. “More than a turn of the moon since you set me free. No one is dead, Keris. No one has died yet. You _promised_.”

“We’re... we’re going there _now_ , mama. We have his name; Pazyryk Lak. He’s an _istandar_. We know where he lives,” Keris says, wide-eyed, struggling for the breath to talk. She’s horribly, horribly aware of Kali snuggled into her side with Ogin wrapped around her affectionately. “And we... we know what happened to the others. To the caravan master. And the quartermaster. The whole band - the ones who strung you up. They _are_ dead, mama. You killed them. The other half of you - the one that stalked around your tree? The one...” she’s reaching here, but it’s a good guess, “the one I think you could call to you, when people came to your tree? That band tried to take the same path they took with you again. And that part of you, it killed them. It killed all of them, every one, but it couldn’t kill the one who owned the caravan, because he’s going to die at _your_ hands.”

((Per+Pres to try and sate Maryam by framing the yidak as something that’s a subset of her that she - hopefully - has influence over, to give her the second-hand satisfaction of having killed the band horribly. And also to pacify her with the name of their target and the fact that he’s an _istandar_ and he’s still going to die with her hands around his neck and that they’re en-route and moving again and going right to where he lives.))   
((4+5+2 stunt+9 Kimmy ExD {bottled-up fury, delayed harm, thinks she is fair}+I Love My Family 3=23. Gah, only 6 sux. Man, apparently Keris is fucking _panicked_ atm and can’t really bring out her social skills. Hopefully she’s speaking to a Passion or two.))   
((Welp))

“Or is it because you let one of _them_ taint you with the scent of his hair and his body?” Maryam hisses. “I hear the whispers of prayers from my _faithful_ brother. Is that why, Keris? Denying me my blood. Tricking me, while behind my back you give your body to one of their lords! Do you value your body so little that you’d let that _filth_ spill his seed into you?”

“N-no!” Keris whimpers, struggling for a moment before lying still again. She could throw her mother off. Easily. But she doesn’t. “Ney’s... he’s Harbourite! He’s offering the istandar to you! He understands about revenge! He’s _helping_ you! He wants you to have the blood that’s rightfully yours!”

“You think I’d believe that when you shut me away, nice and _safe_ away from your new lover’s men for all those weeks,” Maryam hisses. There’s something vile in those milky eyes. “You are my flesh and blood, and I carried you for nine months! Is this the payment I get?” Her hands tighten. “Your body came from me and it can return!”

((She’s trying for forced possession, putting her against Keris’ MDV - if Keris tries to contest it. Which she might not. If Keris is possessed, she’ll basically get to roll Principles to break it - or at least wake up - if anything her body does would go against things she cares about.))   
((... oooo, now. This is a tough one. Hmm. Well, narratively, she can’t really stand up to her mother until she _stands up_ to her mother. So, sigh, yes. Keris does not resist. Again. Her body welcomes Maryam in without the slightest resistance. Again.))   
((Heh. That might even make Maryam a little less angry, the way that Keris’s mind and flesh don’t even try to stop her.))   
((God, poor Keris. Her demon mama is way less abusive than her ghost mama.))   
((mou~))

The cold, the vapour, the rot sinks into Keris’ flesh and blood, and this time she feels herself blacking out entirely. It’s like... she can’t resist. It’s her own body rebelling. 

No. She can’t say that. It’s true, she could resist - but she can’t. She won’t. This is her mother. She can’t say no to her. She can’t betray her mother who needs her revenge. It’s... it’s not something she can do. If mama wants revenge, mama gets it.

All she can desperately manage is to scoot her own children into their shared cradle with her hair, and pray that her mother doesn’t start wondering if her children are related to the ones who killed her.

Her breath rasps. There’s ice in her veins. Her heart barely beats. She feels like she’s choking, endlessly choking and never able to have the pain stops. She understands now, a little bit, why Maryam is so very angry.

And then she’s gone, sinking down into deep waters not too far away from Lethe.

Her body rises. 


	11. Chapter 11

The sun rises, and Keris wakes. She's aching all over. Her body is scabbed with brass and basalt from many cuts. She's on her feet, filthy hair trailing behind her with leaves and twigs knotted in it.

And the trees in front of her dangle with strange fruit; faces swollen, legs crimson, eyes bulging. Every one of them has been strung up by chains, though in Nexus Keris saw enough people hanged that she thinks these people were killed first and then hung up to be displayed. Those are manacles around their necks, she realises.

Behind her are a number of wagons. They've been overturned, and some of them have been set ablaze. 

She pales. Oh. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

“Mama?” she whispers fearfully, edging forwards. “What... what did you do? Who were these people?” She approaches the wagons, scrabbling through the remains, trying not to look at the bodies. Looking for survivors. Looking for clues. Looking for something to tell her that this hadn't been senseless murder done with her hands.

Manacles, wagons, plenty of men with weapons that might have let them cut Keris, but couldn't save them. The picture is very clear.

Maryam found a slave-traders convoy - probably buyers heading to a market or something - and strangled them, then strung their bodies up with their own chains. The dead woman has an... ironic streak very much like Keris' own.

((Because you rolled lol-well, she found exactly what she was looking for.))

Despite herself, Keris's lips twitch.

“Sorry for doubting you, mama,” she whispers. She's not actually sure her mother can hear her right now, but it's morning and the sun is shining, which means that the ghost is probably hiding within her. Hah. Maybe she'll be able to talk to Dulmea. “I should have trusted you more. I understand. You were just frustrated last night. It wasn't...”

She pauses, remembering the... the things her mother had said to her.

“... you didn't really mean it,” she says. “You were just angry. It wasn't either of our faults.”

She hugs herself, shivering a little in the coolness of morning.

Then her head snaps up.

“Shit! The barge!”

Some rapid corpse-inhalation later - along with some liberal use of Haneylian fire to get rid of the wagons - Keris shoots off in what is hopefully the direction of the river and her babies. And quite possibly Ney.

Fortunately, the flow of her heart pulls her in the right direction, and she flips back onto the ship. She's a complete mess, though. Her hair has been dragged through everything horrid and is bloody, muddy and snarled. Her bedclothes are ruined and torn. She's covered in cuts - and if she hadn't been as tough as she is, she might have died out there. As it is, though, all the many wounds are shallow, bouncing off armour-hard skin or only leaving shallow cuts that have mostly closed already.

((Uh, assuming she was wearing bedclothes.))  
((Her grown children have a terrible habit of walking in without knocking. She is definitely wearing bedclothes.))  
((So decadent in her old age. Clothes just for wearing in bed! Outrageous!))  
((She'll stop doing it again once there's no chance of Rathan casually walking in on her naked.))  
((Sigh, yes, she'd care less if it was Haneyl and Calesco with her instead, say.))

Keris was there for the first time Maryam possessed her. Watching from behind her own eyes. She has a very good idea of what Calesco will do if she sees the state Keris is in after her mother... um... _firmly commandeered_ her body to go kill some people who Keris would probably have killed herself if she'd come across them. It's not like it was _wrong_ , and Keris isn't really _hurt_ , but... well, Calesco won't see it that way.

So, sneaking onboard and a careful choice of clothes it is, then. Oula has the helm, and she doesn't notice Keris appear onboard once she's mostly cleaned out her hair. Better luck yet, the babies apparently slept eight whole hours and are only now starting to stir and gripe. Keris feeds and cooes over them while re-weaving her clothes to cover her injuries, then heads down to touch her mother's bones and let the ghost return to her grave. Then she checks on Rounen.

There's no change. Calesco is down there, kneeling and meditating, but Rounen is still a seemingly dead husk.

“Calesco,” Keris says gently, touching her shoulder. “Calesco, I'll take over for a while. Adami will be here probably sometime this morning; you should eat and get some rest in before then.”

Rubbing her thighs, she gets up. “Is it morning?” Calesco asks.

“It feels like it,” Kuha says. “My turn! I'm really interested in meeting this Adami guy. Kerishyra seems to think he's cute, but I want to see for myself.” She grins, and nudges Keris in the side. “I want to see if your taste is always as good as Sasihyra! She's the kind of woman the sky god would fall for!”

Keris blushes, but can't quite keep a smug smile off her face as she thinks of Sasi. And her Sasiness. She very nearly purrs happily.

“Y-yes, well. Keep an eye out for him, and come get me when he gets here. Or just yell. Make sure he doesn't have anyone with him, too.”

“Right, Kerishyra,” Kuha says perkily. As she leaves, Keris hears a “So, Cally, can I play with your bow?”

“No.”

“Aww, really? But what if I promise to be good?”

“No.”

“I really want to learn how to use a bow!”

“I can teach you, but you're not touching my bow.”

Quirking a slight smile at the banter, Keris listens until they're up out of the bowels of the ship, safely out of their hearing range. Though not hers, of course. Then she lets her smile drop and sits down at Rounen's side with a sigh.

“Come on, Rou,” she murmurs, tasting his essence again. Same as always. Still that slow expanse of one part of his nature as the other two thirds shrivel. It's not even going at a constant rate, so she can't judge when he'll be done. “You've got to come through this,” she urges him. “I need my best assistant back, yeah? And Kerisa will be really upset if you don't get better soon.”

He doesn't respond, of course. Something about her care brings Firisutu to mind, though.

“My empress,” he says calmly, “I have begun a census of the keruby in the regions I administer, with the full agreement of Queen Dulmea. We believe it is best to keep an eye on the troublesome keruby. There are no signs of any evolutions yet among Princess Haneyl and Calesco's brood, but we have found two pearls which match the description Dulmea gave me of Oula's chrysalis. It is not a one-off, apparently.”

“Keep an eye on them, then,” Keris nods. “They'll be hatching overnight if Oula's anything to go by - are there any moon wives who've hatched yet?” She pauses, considering that name, but... well, it's as good as any other, and better than most. “And I guess that means you got Eko to accept that you'd be regent of directions whose monarch is out in Creation, then?”

“No, I am afraid she stormed off when Queen Dulmea declared it to be true,” he admits. “I suspect she is either planning to stab me, or she has forgotten.”

((god, Firisutu's job is basically to be the straight man of the souls))  
((a terrible fate))

“... yeah, don't let her do that,” Keris replies, wincing. “It could be both, even. Still, it seems like you get along with Dulmea, so she's in your corner. Alert me when Oula's sisters hatch, will you? I'll do some meditation and have a talk with them. And possibly with Eko, too.”

“I will note that it has apparently been over a week in the case of one of the pearls, according to the friends of the entombed boy,” Firisutu notes.

Keris grinds to a halt.

“... wait,” she says. Out loud. “ _What?_ A week? Oula was only in there overnight! And...”

And a boy, she doesn't say. She wouldn't have thought... admittedly she had no actual _reason_ for thinking that boy wave charmers wouldn't grow up like Oula either, but from the way Haneyl's were diverging it was clearly possible for there to be different ways a kerub could grow up. And Oula's path is very... feminine. More so, she would have thought, than Rathan's nature would guide boys towards.

“... maybe... maybe the length of time depends on the kerub?” she says, mystified. “Well, uh... keep an eye on them anyway, I suppose, and tell me when they hatch. Urgh, keruby. So full of surprises. This must be what early occultists felt like, trying to pin down how demons and elementals worked.”

“They are the most annoying demon breed,” Firisutu agrees, with calm gravitas. “Save some of Eko's demons, but szelkeruby are the most annoying of all.”

“Well...” Keris temporises. “They're not _that_ bad. Just... constant surprises.” She sighs. “And worries. I know - I'm _sure_ \- that Rounen is going to wake up soon. But...”

She looks over the dead-looking husk of her little companion, and bites her lip. No amount of intellectual knowledge or essence-sensing is enough to stop her from feeling that desperate fear that he's really gone, or suffering horribly right now. She strokes the dessicated petals gently, and silently prays to... well, to nobody, really. She's probably the one who the keruby would pray to, if they prayed.

Maybe they do. Or will, someday.

It's not an entirely comfortable thought, put in this context.

((“By Keris' locks!”))  
((“All-Queen bless!” : P))

There is no sign of any life from Rounen. And Ney isn't there as fast as Keris expected. It's passed midday. Keris is giving Ogin a bath and playing “swoop goes the birdy” with chick-form Kali who is chirruping with glee, while Rathan and Xasan are lazing on deck fishing. The two men have bonded over that.

Calesco says it's because it's an excuse for them to sit around doing nothing while claiming to be productive, but Calesco says that sort of thing a lot.

Keris is up on deck for a late lunch, partly to give her babies some fresh air and partly to keep an ear out for their tardy visitor. She has a little bet going with herself over whether he's this late because he's lazy, or because he's planning something ridiculous and stupid and dramatic for his entrance. There are half a dozen apples in the pot, against a new silver hair ornament, so she's eager to find out which way it'll swing.

But as it so happens, the stranger she encounters isn’t Ney. Well, probably isn’t Ney, unless he’s disguised himself so well even she can’t tell the difference. It’s really annoying how he can do that. But assuming that isn’t the case, it’s one of his sun-blessed subordinates who’s waiting for her, balancing on a pine tree overlooking the river. On the sight of Keris, they - no, it’s a she, Keris thinks under the warm clothing and the full-face mask - drop down from the height, and then dash over the surface of the water, jumping from leaf to leaf before vaulting up onto the deck of the boat into a crouched position. 

“Lady Keris Dulmeadokht,” the newcomer says in a strongly accented voice that sounds somewhere between Harbourite and the Tairan accents she knows, “Commander Adami sends his greetings and his apologies. He cannot meet your rendezvous due to military concerns; the false shahbanu has dispatched ghost-ridden assassins and he is having to hunt them down. He reports it is, and he told me to quote him directly, ‘such a bother, I wish she wouldn’t do that’. He wishes to inform you that he hopes to meet you in the lock-town of Banaskan, but if he is not there, he will try to send another messenger as to the new location place.” She reaches into an inner pocket, and holds out a wax-stoppered tube. “He has also sent this private message speaking of personal matters.” 

Keris straightens slowly from the wary crouch she’d fallen into as soon as the woman had approached, carefully not looking at either of the babies. Let’s see, let’s see... Ogin is chest-deep in the little tub, and the water is soapy and foamy enough that his tails aren’t visible. His hair is white, yes, but the soft fur on his back and arms and chest is still pretty light and sparse; probably not visible at a distance. Kali is perched in her hair, but she’s looking like a beaked ball of fluff at the moment, and bar some minor cheeping towards the woman seems to be more interested in trying to peck at one of Keris’s feathers.

Okay. They’re probably safe from any reports going back to Ney, even if Keris has lost her bet to herself. And she’s... oh, at least willing to bet four against one that this is not in fact Ney himself in disguise. If nothing else; it’s too professional and not annoying enough. Putting herself between the woman and Ogin in a casual movement that also coincidentally veils the little bird in her hair, she gestures to the bench that the remains of lunch are set out on.

“Set it down on the table and back away again,” she says, considering the verbal message. Something occurs to her, and she sighs. “Does he often tell you to quote things like that? No, don’t answer, I can guess. How long will it take us to get to Banaskan?” This last is addressed to the ship deck in general, and merits a splash and a muffled gurgle from Ogin. Glancing back over her shoulder, Keris finds that he has apparently decided to become one with the soap-foam, to the point that it’s hard to tell which bits of the tub are foam-piles and which are Ogin-covered-in-bubbles.

... well, at least he’s well-camouflaged.

Rathan casually hefts his fishing rod over his shoulder, facing the new woman. He's glowing faintly, his light subtly washing away the oddities and strangenesses of the ship. Even Keris is having problems seeing Ogin’s fur under this hint of red light. And she's willing to bet the woman can't see the light.

“Banaskan is... oh, depending on current and wind, two to three days upriver,” he says promptly. “The maps aren't as good up here, because someone's been cutting and clearing the river and diverting it for irrigation. It's sort of a little unsafe, actually,” he directs the comment at the messenger. “Am I right, there? It'd be helpful to know what the changes are so I can avoid tearing the hull open on a sandbank.”

“I'm not a sailor, but I believe that yes, the naib has been working hard at clearing the river bed and diverting things for irrigation,” the messenger says.

“Oh, that's good. Thank you. Would you care for some tea?” Rathan asks, gesturing to the small teapot he has beside him. “I wouldn't mind a talk on whether there are any dangers upstream or anything like that? I don't want any more trouble from bandits...”

((Rathan rolls Per + Pres, 8 successes.))

The messenger seems hesitant, but then relents. “There shouldn't be any problems there,” she begins, and Keris tunes her out. Rathan is doing his thing, and that's just that.

For her part, she's interested in the message tube. Under the wax, there seems to be a complicated little locking mechanism. Which has been gummed up by the wax.

... he almost certainly did that deliberately. There's also the sound of fluids inside, and Keris remembers that from the old days - baghouses would sometimes protect valuable bits of paper that she hadn't been able to read with fuel and firedust things that made sure they burned up if the lock was opened wrong.

((Reaction + Subterfuge to open the mechanism. Base difficulty 4 to pick, +3 external penalty for it being gummed up by wax because Keris is sure Ney is a jerk who did this deliberately. If she can get the wax out, she can ignore the external penalty))

Muttering to herself irritably and questioning Ney’s lineage and suitability to lead any force larger than a Nexan chicken coop, Keris worms little hairs into the locking mechanism and begins removing the wax, tugging at it with root-threads to clean out the tiny metal spaces even as she maps them. Then, curling around it and grabbing her lockpicks out of her hair, she sets to work opening the little thing. Without it exploding.

She’ll give him a little wax figurine of him getting his hands shoved somewhere unpleasant next time she sees him, Keris decides. Or something along those lines. See how he likes _that_.

((Using FWT to remove the organic wax from the lock, and then picking it at base Difficulty. 5+5+2 Coadj+2 stunt+1 tool bonus {lockpicks, When Given Time To Work}=15. 9 sux.))

Inside the tube is a letter, wrapped around a block of something wrapped in rice paper. Keris sniffs the block. It smells almondy and sweet and milky and there's a hint of coffee and something else she doesn't recognise in it. She's pretty sure that's food.

She reads the letter, making sure to position it so no one can look over her shoulder.

“Hey,” it says, and then there's a red kiss as if someone has carefully put on red lip paint and then pressed it to the paper.

“Sorry I couldn't make it. The naib beckons. Can't really talk more about it because I'll see you later.

“So, one thing to watch out for is the fake shahbanu's saboteurs. She sends them to wreck things and then I have to chase them down. Boats are one of her targets. Rumour has it she has several dragonblooded working for her. She had at least one, but I killed him six months ago. I think that's making her more wary about who she sends out.

“Have a bar of chocolate in return. I know it's not as sweet as I am, but you'll have to make do.

“Hugs and kisses,

“Ney

“PS, the chocolate isn't all for you. You can feed small amounts to your babies, your uncle, and your other companions. Why do you have three Tairan peasant girls along with you?”

Keris scowls down at it. Despite knowing that he’d be having people spy on her, she’s still kind of pissed. She nibbles a corner of the block thing experimentally. Bar of chocolate, Ney had called it.

... dammit, it tastes really good. Urgh. So annoying. Stupid Ney, giving her nice-tasting food that Haneyl will like. Now she’ll have to make something nice for him when he shows his lazy ass up.

Well then. Small risk of attack from shahbanu forces, Ney absent but still annoying, spying confirmed... is it worth sending a message back for him? Hmm. No, probably not, Keris decides. Not only is it dubious as to whether the messenger would be able to get it back to him, he also doesn’t deserve the attention.

She takes another nibble of chocolate and eyes Xasan dubiously, debating how much she can get away with not giving him.

“Thank you for delivering this,” she says, interrupting Rathan... oh by the Unspeakable Colour; how did he manage to turn the conversation to the quality of the woman’s _sleeping mat_ , of all things? Actually no, she doesn’t want to know. “I won’t need to send a full reply, but if you see him again please let him know I acknowledged his note.” She frowns. “And also that I was serious about dunking him in the river if he keeps spying on me, not that it will stop him.”

The messenger manages to disentable herself from Rathan with some difficulty - gods, Keris herself knows what a hugger he is - and kneels. “Yes, lady,” she says, and then she’s off, leaping from leaf to floating twig as she sprints off at an impressive speed. Keris would have to actually run at more than a casual jog to beat that speed.

“We’re going to get some of those, aren’t we?” Rathan says, with a firm nod. “People like that look useful. And…”

“Rathan!” Oula appears on deck, eyes brimming with both tears and rage. “Who was that and why were you holding her hand?”

“Just one of mama’s Ney’s spies I was having to charm, Oulie,” Rathan says quickly.

“But why did you have to hold her hand to do it!” Oula demands.

“He was using his light on her to make sure she didn’t notice the babies,” Keris puts in, after checking that the woman is definitely out of even an enhanced human’s earshot. “They’ve already noticed the girls - which is annoying, because I haven’t noticed any hides. Urgh.” She breaks off a little bit of the chocolate block. “Here, he sent some sort of treat. Oula, catch.”

Oula catches - and Keris would be very disappointed in her if she didn’t - and holds it up suspiciously. “Wax?” she asks, and licks it. Her eyes widen, and her red irises go heart-shaped. “It’s wonderful,” she breathes. “What is it?”

“Ney calls it chocolate,” Keris tells her. “There’s almond and milk and coffee and something else I’m not sure of in it. Another kind of nut, I think.” She smirks. “Do you think Rathan would like some?”

Oula’s eyes light up, nearly literally. “I can give him some, yes,” she says, smiling. Her previous rage and tears are gone as if they were never there, as fast as the sunlight banishes the night. “Oh, Rathaaaaaaaaaan.” She approaches him, chocolate in hand.

“Yes?”

“I have something for you.” Quite deliberately, she puts the piece in her mouth, between her teeth, and stands on tiptoes to lean in and kiss him. 

“Mmm.”

“Mmmm.”

Xasan sighs, rolling his eyes. 

“Aren’t I sweet?” Oula says, chocolate over her coral lips.

“You always are,” Rathan agrees. 

Coughing loudly - though this isn’t as mortifying as walking in on the pair in their shared room, and is actually rather adorable to watch - Keris taps her foot on the deck. “So, we have a destination and an obnoxious spy to meet there. Shall we get properly underway, captain Rathan?”

“Well, once you give me my share of the chocolate,” Rathan says firmly. “Oula might have shared hers with me, but I still get some.”

Sometimes she’s reminded that Rathan is Haneyl’s brother. Like today.

Once the negotiations are sorted out - especially the very difficult bit where Calesco and Kuha make the case that they both get a share - they continue off, heading upstream.

With two clean babies in hair, Keris is shanghaied by the men to take some of the fish they’ve caught down to the galley. Calesco’s girls, especially Heba, have essentially taken up residence in the galley, treating it as their own little place of routine. Maybe it’s a way for coping with the strangeness of the plant ship, but Keris has reshaped it to look a little more normal.

She’s certainly more than happy to let someone else do the messy work of gutting and cleaning the fish, because she’s not going to do that.

“More catches?” Heba says, from where she’s sweeping. 

“The boys are competing,” Keris agrees. “I’m pretty sure Rathan is pulling fish in with the water currents somehow. And we had a visitor with a message, so each of you get a little of this.” She drops three little chunks of chocolate on the galley counter. “Apparently it’s called chocolate.”

Kali, she notes, is looking very interested in the bucket of fish, and is struggling to get out of her hair and into the food-pile. Keris double-checks her grip on her daughter. She just got the girl clean; and another bath after a three-foot dive into a fish pile is not on the cards for her planned afternoon.

Fatima sucks in a breath. “Oh,” she says. “That’s so expensive. Only nobles can have it at more than feasts. I think someone said it’s what the gods eat, because we offer bits of it to their shrines.”

“It’s good!” Heba says, basically throwing down her broom to get to it. 

“Who gave you that?” Kashma says. “They must be a really, really good friend to give you so much you have some to spare, no less!”

Keris makes a face. “It was Adami,” she admits. “The annoying one who took me to dinner and who’ll be playing guide later. And who stole my hairpieces after the dinner. Urgh, I’m going to have to make him something nice for this.” She grumbles for a moment, then pauses, and then smiles wickedly. “But...” she adds, mostly to herself, “... he _did_ send it to me in a parcel with a firedust lock that he’d stuffed full of wax. So I get to give it to him in a way that cheats when he tries to get at it. Hmm... maybe if I lock it in a box, but connect the inside of the lid and the base with a little pillar so he can’t open it and thinks he got the lock wrong? Or... mm. I’ll need to think about this.”

The girls have frozen up while she muses. “Adami?” Heba says slowly. “Did you just say… Adami?”

“Maybe it’s a common name,” says Fatima.

“Yes, but just look at what she and Calesco can do,” Kashma says softly. “Princes of the earth might interact with people like… the Jackal.”

There’s a pause. Keris sits down; babies in her lap, and leans forward.

“Tell me more,” she says, “about this Jackal.”

A flurry of words burst out from the girls.

“Well, we only heard rumours…”

“... because the Illuminationists talk about him…”

“They say he’s chosen by the Sun, the Jackal who stalks the night…”

“They say he can look like anyone at all! That he could be anyone!”

“He can walk through walls and runs as fast as the wind…”

“... and he’s Malra’s blade, him and his Blades, his personal army who are all blessed by the sun themselves…”

“He’s the one who trains all the best people in the Malran army and the Illuminationists had people go off on pilgrimage who wanted to be blessed by him and join his army.”

It makes sense, Keris realises, listening to them. After all, they were living close to Malra. The rumours might not have made their way back to Terema, but the sun-chosen in Malra are clearly backing the Illuminationists so the people who… who tried to kill these girls might have heard of him. She waits for the rush of words to taper off, and considers for a while.

Then she nods.

“Yup,” she agrees. “Most of that sounds true, from what I saw of him. _And_ ,” she adds firmly, before they can slip into outright panic, “the first thing you need to understand is; you’re safe. All three of you are safe. Adami and I ran into one another just past the border of Malra, and we had a... talk, and among the things we didn’t say but both understood was that I could probably take him in a fight. If it came to it. And that it _would_ come to it if he tried to hurt anyone I was travelling with, or _breathe_ too close to my babies, or call down any trouble on our heads. He’s a commander of men, not a fighter. If we went blade to blade, I would kill him.”

Pausing for a moment to let them take in the certainty in that, Keris continues. “Past that, one of the things we _did_ say, after some misunderstandings, was that he actually agrees with why we’re here and isn’t going to stop us. I don’t think he’s like the Illuminationists who come from Malra - he’s from further South, like the Harbourite mercenaries. He doesn’t believe the same things the locals do. But he would quite like us out of the country he’s working for since I could break it if I was halfway inclined to, so he’s helping us get what we want so that we’ll leave quickly and without destroying much of it. That’s why he’ll be tagging along to play guide, later - and why he sent a note and some chocolate just now.”

((I guess Per+Pres to reassure them that Keris is a super murder mama who’ll totes break his face if he tries to burn them alive, and also that he doesn’t seem to particularly want to in her best judgement of his character?  
4+5+3 Prince of Hell+2 stunt+4 Malfeas ExD {arrogant, awe, strong}=18. 6 sux.))

The girls aren’t comfortable, but at least they’re settled down somewhat.

“Have you met any more of the mighty lords of Malra?” Heba asks, eyes mixing fear and awe equally.

“Apart from Lady Qaja, this last month? No,” Keris reassures them. “I don’t need to and I don’t plan to. They’re not why I’m here, and I don’t see any point in going out of my way to see them. Though I’ve heard the naib is a craftsman and a ruler, so if it comes to it, he’s even less able to stand against me than Adami would be in a fight.” She wrinkles her nose. “But that would be pointless and spark a lot of annoying chaos that would get in the way. Better to just do what I came for and leave. And try to annoy Adami some small fraction of the amount he’s annoyed me,” she adds in a grumble. “He’s either taunting me or flirting with me. Or both. If he keeps it up when he arrives, I’m going to dunk him in the river and make him swim his way to where we’re going.”

She purses her lips, considering. “That said, I might run into them by accident, like Adami. What have you heard of them? There are two, I think - the naib, and... a woman? Adami mentioned her name...”

Heba nods. “The naib… they say he was chosen by the Setting Sun in that eclipse seven years ago,” she says in a hushed voice. “He’s not young. I think he’s in his sixties, or maybe even older. Well, fifties at least. But he used to be regent for the shahbanu when she was a baby, and then someone else kicked him out…”

“The Illuminationists say it was a demon cultist who conspired against him,” Fatima says. “And that the shahbanu is possessed by a hungry ghost who’s come back from the grave for its revenge and only the suns can save us from her spite.”

This dramatic revelation is slightly disturbed by a faint popping noise and a sudden weight on Keris’ head as a confused Kali finds herself a human baby again. She doesn’t seem to like this, and starts crying.

Over the noise of the wailing infant, Kashma says, “I heard someone say he’s been conquering places west of here, too - Harbourhead used to own a lot of the plateau, but several clans have all defected to him and are now part of Malra.”

“That’s Taym, then,” Keris muses, shifting Kali into her arms and rocking her gently, plucking out the jangling, fiery song of her essence with her hair. It doesn’t take long for her to quieten, and another adjustment allows Ogin to wrap his little fingers around one of her ankles and clumsily pat the top of her foot.

“So,” Keris adds. “Who’s ‘Mashy’? Adami mentioned them in the same breath as someone else who could give him orders.”

The three girls blanch.

“He calls the High Priestess of the Illumination ‘Mashy’?” Fatima gaspes. “That’s what he calls Mahshid Atrai?”

“He… they say she founded the Illumination…”

“... or maybe didn’t found it, but it wouldn’t be what it is without her.”

“They say the Midday Sun blessed her when she drove out a demon lord with faith alone…”

“That down in Perswha they tried to drown her as a sacrifice she came up out of the water a day later and burned them all…”

“They say she talks to the birds and they judge sinners for her.”

“... and that she can fly like a bird herself, unless that’s her wife that does the bird things, I can’t remember.”

Keris pinches the bridge of her nose, wishing Ney was here so she could smack him. “Yes,” she sighs. “He is definitely the kind of person who would call her ‘Mashy’. Okay, she might be more of a problem. We’re going to want to avoid her. I can kill a demon lord without too much effort, but if she can banish them just with faith it probably means she’s strong enough to be dangerous. And the Illuminationists are crazy.” She pets Kali, the song tapering off as her daughter accepts that she’s human-shaped now and starts determinedly sucking her thumb. “I don’t suppose you know much about the capital they live in?”

“I heard someone say the streets there are paved with gold,” Kashma contributes. “And so are all the roofs. It’s the richest city in the world and no one has to work for a living and there’s a giant Illuminationist temple where the sun never sets and the animals can talk and it’s built by an ancient thing where the sun gods used to live before the world was made.”

“I think that’s not true,” Fatima says. “Not all of it. I mean, I bet roads made of gold would get all dented. Gold is soft.” She says with with the certainty of a girl who can believe in talking animals, but who knows about gold.

Fatima, Keris thinks, is going to go far in life. She gives the girl an approving nod. “Well, we’ll find out when we pass through it,” she says. “We won’t be there long, though, and you three can mostly stay on the barge where it’s safe. Then... then we’ll need to decide what you’re going to do in the long term. Have you thought about it? What you want to do when Calesco and I travel back to our home?”

Heba slumps down. “I… me and Kashma only have each other, and Fatima doesn’t have anyone - not anyone who’ll want her back.”

Fatima nods sadly.

“Maybe if it’s warmer, we might be able to find a boat that’ll head down to Terema,” Heba says, as the eldest. “I heard tales there’s always work there, and… and the Illumination don’t rule there. We can always find a way of making do or… or something.”

Keris doesn’t need the hearing of the Silent Wind to hear the quaver in her voice. 

“You could come with us,” she offers. “Like I said when I first patched you up - if you want to stay in Taira I’ll find somewhere you’ll be safe and provided for, but if you want to follow us... it’ll mean more odd things. More surprises like Kali and Ogin. But you’d be able to pick any trade you wanted to learn, and you’d be safe and well-protected and a long, long, long way away from the Illumination. From Taira in general.”

She pauses. They look uncertain.

“It’s your choice,” Keris reaffirms. “Entirely your choice. You’ve had a while to think about it, you’ve seen some of the things that travelling along with me brings by now. I’m not going to rush you to a decision. You can take as long as it takes for us to finish our business in Malra to make up your minds. It’s your future, so it’s up to you.”

The girls look… lost. Torn between things. Ogin makes a soft noise and starts trying to suck on Kali’s toes, and Keris watches the girls as one smile and her son breaks the tension.

“We’ll… see what happens,” Heba announces almost-firmly. “Maybe something will show up, but... but… but until then, we’ll keep on p-paying our way. So I have sweeping to finish, while Fatima, Kashma, start cleaning the fish.”

“We could really do with some ice, if you could get Rathan to make some more,” Fatima says. “It’ll stop the fish going off so fast. And, um.” She swallows. “When I try to talk to him, Oula starts staring at me. And sometimes… um, she starts playing with. Um. Knives. And sharp things. I’m sure she doesn’t mean to, but, uh.”

“She’s scary,” Kashma says.

“Very scary,” Heba agrees.

Keris restrains an eyeroll, with effort. “I’ll... have a talk with her,” she promises. “She’s just sort of, uh, protective. Of her relationship. And still sees other girls as possible rivals for him. I’ll see if I can get her to calm down a bit, and get you that ice.”

“Please do,” Heba begs.

The next two days pass smoothly. There’s more boat traffic here and more villages on the rivers, but their disguised vessel moves through any watchers cleanly. There’s no change with Rounen, though.

Now, Keris does wind up having to fish Kali out of the river, after she managed to escape when in kitten form while Keris was distracted by her brother. As far as she can tell, Kali was fascinated by a lump of ice in the river and tried to pounce on it. The splash brings Keris running and she has to rescue a very upset kitten who’s furiously doggy-paddling in near-freezing water.

At least Kali can apparently sort of swim - at least enough to keep her head above water.

It means that when the lock-town comes into sight, Keris has a very clingy, human-once-more Kali snuggled up against her and she’s not going to let this little troublemaker out of her sight for a while.

The weather has worsened. It’s snowing, but only in a light, flaky way that is nothing compared to how it was in the mountains on the way up to Malra. Still, everyone is wrapped up warm and Keris is paying a lot of attention to making sure the babies don’t catch cold.

“Orders, mama?” Rathan says, from his place at the tiller. He’s changed outfits to copy the locals, and then promptly ruined any attempt at blending in by making it much more expensive. 

Keris considers. She’s not letting Kali out of her sight or grip, since her children have already worked out how to have one of them distract her while the other escapes and toddles off in search of mischief or mayhem. And Kali still doesn’t have her shifting under control. That limits how much time she can spend around people herself.

“We don’t know when Adami will show up,” she decides. “But I’d like to learn some more about the naib and the high priestess if we can. And the capital. Take Oula with you and go ask around for some information, would you? And Calesco, could you go too in a shadow-guise? I’ll stay here with Rounen and the twins, and Xasan or the girls can tell me if and when Adami arrives. Come back for lunch - I’ll have something for you all to eat - and if he hasn’t arrived by then I might leave a Gale watching the twins and go out for a bit myself.”

Banaskan is built into the hillside ahead of them, at the foot of a higher plateau. A great waterfall tumbles down a hundred metres, over the top of spray-splattered structures. The river here has been diverted into the complicated lock structure that chain-elevates the barges that use this river to the top. Some of the stonework here is old - honey coloured, like the ancient buildings in Nexus - but there’s Shogunate stone on top of it, and newer honey-coloured stone around bits of the locks.

And of course, this is Malra. The plants and the glowing crystal lights are everywhere. 

Keris has plenty of time to see this, because there is a long queue of barges trying to get up here. The locks can only take a few barges at a time, and then they need to flood them with water diverted down a complicated network of stone channels. The barges here are a mix of the ones you’d see anywhere in Creation, some brightly festooned ones manned by people who look Harbourite - one of which has some of the crew playing wailing pipe music on deck as they wait for their turn - and some slender, fast boats which get pushed to the front of the queue much to everyone else’s irritation.

The town itself has a branch which runs all the way along the canals which lead up to the lock. The waterfront here teams with bars, supply points, brothels, and other things designed to extract money from bored sailors waiting for their turn at the lock. They’re a captive market and…

“I bet they rip people off there,” Calesco says cynically, standing beside Keris. She’s looking morose. She seemed much happier when it was just them on the boat. “Haneyl would.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Keris sighs. “Swing past Rathan and Oula a couple of times while you’re looking around and make sure they’re not spending too much, would you? And get something for the girls. More chocolate, maybe. They liked the stuff Adami sent.”

Calesco shrugs. “If I can find some.” She smiles. “I’m sure Rathan will be trying to get free samples, but I’ll probably just steal it if it looks like the person can afford to donate it.” She sidles up to Keris. “Do I make you proud, mama?” she says, her tone clearly a mocking impersonation of Rathan.

Keris pulls her into a hug. “You rescued three girls and made sure they were safe and cared for,” she says, deliberately misinterpreting the edge of Calesco’s question. “It makes me proud when you’re kind like that. And you’re right that there are probably people in this town who can afford to donate some nice things to Kashma and Heba and Fatima.”

Calesco reaches out, and squeezes Keris’ hair with her own, letting it intertwine for a moment. “Not even a comment about how I need to work on my pickpocketing?” she asks, trying not to look too soft. “Fine. And… no, Kuha, I one-hundred percent veto you going into any of…” she blushes, “those kinds of places. No, I don’t care that it’s your body, I’m in it too and I’m saying no.” She rolls her eyes at Keris. “I think she’s doing it to annoy me. But I’m not going to let her if she tries. And I’ll stop her getting drunk, at least until… no, I am not a killjoy!”

She wanders off, muttering to herself. Xasan is heading the other way, and gives her a strange look as he passes. “If you don’t mind, I’m heading ashore too,” he says gruffly. “I see some old Harbourites running some of those bars, and I reckon some of them might’ve been the Shah’s men back in the day. I’ll ask around, see if I can pick anything up.” He looks down at his niece. “I’ll need some money to spread around, though,” he says.

((Keris will need to find something to overcome her 4-dot Principle of Possessiveness, suppress it, or Xasan will be at -2 to all his asking around rolls from having to be stingy when investigating.))  
((Rolling Possessiveness... 4 successes. Goddammit Keris. You choose _now_ to go ultra-hoardy hackles-up defensive? Moderated but, sigh, not outdone by 3 successes on I Love My Family.))

Keris squirms uncomfortably, her hair winding down without her notice to clamp itself around her coin purse protectively. It’s been a long trip, and her moneybags are feeling light, and the hissing, spitting part of her in the back of her mind is feeling very insecure and not at all willing to let go of what’s hers. She clutches Kali a little tighter, pressing kisses against her baby’s adorable little fingers to encourage her into practicing how to open and close her hand.

“Why don’t you relax instead, uncle?” she suggests. “Actually, I know. Instead of money, why don’t I whip you up some drinks to take out and share around? They’ll be way better than anything sold here, and they’ll probably loosen tongues and win you friends better than coin. Plus, if there are any eyes and ears in the city, they’re less likely to think of a group of ex-shahsmen sharing a round of drinks as suspicious than they are bags of silver being passed around.”

Keris’ uncle sighs, and looks about to say something sharp. He bites back his comment, though, and as a reward Keris lets him hold Kali while she prepares the drinks. Kali finds Xasan’s face hilarious for some reason, and so when she passes him a few of her special drinks (“They’re cargo from your ship,” she says with a grin) she takes back a chortling infant who stops laughing when she sees Mama and looks at Keris gravely as if she’s ruined her fun.

“Wanna wanna wanna san bloooooo!” Kali explains. Keris isn’t sure what she means, but then again she seldom does. Their talking really isn’t at the ‘making sense’ level yet. Of course, it’s a sign of how precious and lovely and clever her tiny babies are that they’re even able to talk at all yet. “Blooo!” She flails her arms and legs, and manages to kick Ogin in the head.

Ogin looks back up with gravely disappointed silver eyes, and deliberately grabs his sister’s foot with a chubby hand. He doesn’t say anything.

Squirming around in Keris’ hair, Kali shifts to stare at her brother. “San bloo ‘gin, blooo! Wanna san goooooo!” she expands. 

Ogin shakes his head, and refuses to let go of her foot. He looks at it, and on the basis that he has it in his hand, he puts it in his mouth.

“Ma! Ma!” Kali protests. “Gin nom foo’!”

“Ogin, stop nomming your sister’s foot,” Keris coaxes, internally melting into a puddle at the sound of her baby girl calling her ‘mama’. “Kali, sweetie, you want something?” She bounces her up and down a little, then gently puts her next to Ogin. Kali blinks curiously at her brother; now on the same level as her, and falls over sideways into his lap.

... probably intentionally, Keris decides. Ogin pats her on the head, and she’s soon giggling into his tails as she tries to trap his fingers with her hair.

“Like I said; be back by lunch and I’ll have something for everyone to eat,” Keris reminds her uncle. “I’m going to check up on Rounen first, but I’ll have plenty of time to prepare something special. Maybe it’ll get Adami to not be so annoying if I stuff his mouth too full of food to talk,” she adds in a grumble.

Heading down into the galley, Keris takes in their supplies. They’re doing well - Malik was generous with the produce from her estate so they have plenty of vegetables and the mania of the men onboard for fishing means there’s plenty of fish. And oh good, Rathan has been keeping the ice refilled so they’re staying fresh enough.

Keris roughs out an idea of what she’ll be making for lunch and asks Heba and Kashma to start preparing the ingredients, holding Fatima back for a quick chat before she joins them.

“Our visitor will probably be arriving sometime today,” she says. “I’m going to go check on Rounen for a while, so if he manages to be as inconvenient as usual and turn up while I’m down there, tell him to stay on the deck and call for me.” She pauses, considering Ney. “He may not look like a he,” she adds. “So just do that for anyone we don’t know who comes onboard. And keep your eyes on him at all times. I’ll be there as soon as you call, and he won’t dare hurt you or he’ll face my anger.”

Fatima doesn’t look entirely happy at the thought of confronting the Jackal, but Keris’s promises of quick and protective backup at least seem to stave off panic. Keris gathers up her babies - now engaged in a riveting game of hair-wrestling with their foreheads pressed together so their short curls can reach - and heads down into the depths of the barge.

It’s warm down here, among the living organs of the ship. Further towards the front of the ship lies Maryam’s coffin, with its intricately carved deathmask. Above them, in one of the bedrooms, lie Kerisa’s bones in their velvet-and-hardwood palanquin; with descriptions of her parents carved onto the insides of the walls and lid.

And here, just sternward of the middle of the ship, sleeps Rounen.

He’s sleeping. Not dead. Keris reminds herself of that firmly, playing it through her mind as she looks at his still, parched, shrivelled form. She wets a finger in a beaker and draws it across his forehead, which sucks the moisture in greedily. It doesn’t change the dry, desiccated look of his corpse-like face.

Keris settles herself down, gently resting a hair-tendril on one of his hands. He’s very fragile, in this state. Like a fallen leaf, long-dried up, brittle and all-too-easily broken. She _wants_ to actually _hold_ his hand. But she can’t. Just coaxing it open would risk losing him fingers, and Keris doesn’t know whether flesh-weaving them back on would be a proper fix, in the middle of whatever malady or growth he’s suffering through.

There’s too much she doesn’t know about her little friend, and Rounen is the one paying for it right now.

“Hi Rounen,” she says, determinedly cheerful. “I’ve got some more food for you, and a story. Silly Kali decided to leap before she looked, so when you wake up you can write down the tale of the Kitten and the River for me, and we can tease her with it when she grows up, hmm?” Kali, hearing her name and somehow divining the context, looks up and pouts. Keris grins. “It started when I was up on deck with the pair of them, and Ogin started making a fuss...”

((Okay, we’re time-skipping over that bit. So, bunch of rolls from you:  
13 dice, Diff 3 and 8 dice, Diff 5 for Rathan and Oula.  
16 dice, Diff 3 and 15 dice, Diff 5 for Calesco.  
8 dice, Diff 2 for Xasan.  
And finally a cooking roll vs Diff 2 for Keris for meal prep))  
((Rathan and Oula: 9 sux on 13 and 5 sux on 8, respectively.))  
((Calesco: 7 sux on 16 and 11 on 15 respectively. U go gurl.))  
((Xasan: 4 sux on 8, mwaa haa.))  
((And finally Keris... that’s gonna be, what, Cog+Occult? Apply FWT and a full Metagaos Excellency for 7 successes on 16. Bah. It’s merely a sublime meal that a prince or naib would pay its weight in silver for, rather than ridiculously impossible divine bullshit.))

“You know,” Heba says, looking over the meal as Keris finishes putting the touches to the honey-bread she’s woven with her root-fingers, “I don’t want to be rude, but I’d really miss how you feed us if we left.”

Keris grins at that.

Everyone arrives back in time for lunch - and her food - and Calesco perches on one of the benches, squatting there in a way that reminds Keris of how her daughter is a bird-like thing under her lies. “So who goes first?” she asks.

Rathan yawns. “It depends whether you want the good news last or first,” he says.

“It’s not just good news because you’re the one talking!”

“I beg to differ, sister dearest.”

“Yeah!” Oula contributes, getting a dirty glare from Calesco for that.

“Well, ignoring the egotist,” Calesco says sourly, rummaging through her bags, “I got some shoplifting done.” She tosses a satchel to Keris. “There you go, mama. Maps to the capital, some chocolate, some herbs and spices and things I thought looked nice or would be useful for cooking. I also stole some money, but I gave it away to people who needed it more than us.”

Keris eagerly rummages through the bag, after fending off Ogin who starts trying to chew on the corner of the soft leather. She rolls out the maps Calesco has found. They’re crude and clearly not detailed topographical ones, but they still show the major landmarks. Malra is located on the slopes of a mountain, next to an ancient aqueduct and in fact it looks like it’s built around the aquaduct. Barges can sail along the raised water-road straight into the city. No wonder they’ve put so much effort into restoring the canals and the locks. The fact that they have this network working in such a mountainous hilly country makes Keris jealous.

Her eyes scan over the other features of the map; the Great Temple, the Manufactoria District, the Eyes of the Suns, the Ever-Fire Manse-Gardens, the Thousand Scribes, the Boulevard of Gold…

“Wait, there really is a street paved in gold?” she says, tapping that last one. “Or maybe painted gold or something. Or with really rich shops all along it. Still, worth a look.” Her fingers drift over the canal routes and the landmarks, assessing the threads. The Great Temple and the Eyes of the Suns do not sound inviting to a demon-princess, and she marks those down to avoid. The Manufactoria District and the Manse-Gardens, on the other hand...

“This is a mission, not a sightseeing tour,” Keris says out loud to remind herself. “But if we happen to get a look at their factories or manse-gardens, I won’t complain. I want to build a place like this for our people eventually, and seeing how they did it could help.” She avoids looking at the label of the Thousand Scribes; too raw from sitting vigil over Rounen so recently. “Good work, Calesco. Thank you.”

She turns. “Rathan, Oula? What did you pick up?”

Oula vibrates. “Oh, Rathan was so clever and cunning and insightful,” she says happily, cuddling up to him. “You wouldn’t believe what he did.”

Rathan stretches, pulling out some papers from an inside pocket with a strand of hair. “One full set of lock authorisation papers,” he says, danging them in front of Keris. “Signed, sealed and authorised. It did take all the money I had, but I just was so… so, sad that, that bandits had attacked us and we barely managed to fend them off and the… the captain went overboard and we lost our papers.” He’s wailing now, tears running down his cheeks.

There’s a distraught noise from Ogin, and he crawls across the table to slither down into Rathan’s lap. He firmly cuddles his brother’s arms, patting his chest with a tiny hand.

“Aww, no, need for that,” Rathan says, cheering right up. He wipes his eyes. “See! Rathan’s just faking it! I’ll have to teach you to do this so you can cope with bullying sisters.”

“Disgusting,” Keris hears Calesco mutter. “No wonder you’re the lord of the waters. Because you’re a big cry baby.”

“Fabulous!” Keris says brightly, accepting the papers. “These will be very useful. Well done and thank you, Rathan. Ogin, darling...” She pauses for a moment, as Ogin’s tails clamp themselves around Rathan’s side as far as they can go. “... oh fine, you can keep cuddling him. So, Xasan? Any thoughts?”

“Mmm. Just one thing really stands out,” Xasan says. He stands up, pacing over to the other side of the room. “That man I met, that Ney,” he says, a certain amount of contempt in his voice. “You were meant to be meeting him here, right? I think I saw him.”

Xasan immediately has Keris’s full and complete attention, her hair flaring and swirling for a moment as she shoots to her feet. “You saw him? Here? Where? What was he doing? He looked like himself? Did he have anyone with him?” She clutches a protesting Kali closer as another hair tendril sweeps out to gather up Ogin.

“He came up to me - yes, looking like himself - and he said that he’d see you at lunch. He had a mask on so I wasn’t totally sure it was him,” Xasan admits, “but it sounded like him. He also said to tell you to look up.”

Keris looks up. There’s nothing there.

And then what had looked like part of the ceiling shifts, and it’s Ney, one finger pressed to his lips, wearing greens and with green makeup covering his face.

Everyone flinches and most of the food on the table goes flying.

Keris stares at him blankly for a full second; the weight of Kali and Ogin a heavy anchor on her rage, as her mind replays the meeting. She absorbs the fact that he’s now seen Rathan and Calesco - and found out they’re her children - and the clear look he’s got at Ogin’s inhumanity, if not Kali’s quite yet. And how he’s infiltrated her ship and fooled her senses yet again. And how he’s probably stolen some of the food.

Then she shrieks in fury, two locks of hair push Kali and Ogin into Calesco and Rathan’s arms respectively, and she launches herself at him with fists already swinging. Ney flows out of the way, a grin on his face even as he rubs away the face paint with a single fleeting gesture of his hand. “Now, now, Kiss,” he says, with a seemingly clumsy trip backwards that manages to somehow perfectly avoid all her blows, “not in public.” He blows a kiss at the girls, winks at Rathan, and disappears in a flash. Keris hears his feet on the stairs up to the deck.

Keris rockets after him, barely rational enough to wait until there’s a door between her and the twins before letting loose. A blast of light and sound cracks the interior walls and devastates the stairwell as she pursues from within an aura of Valiant lightning. Her hair lunges forward, flickering for him in hundreds of barely-visible whipcrack motions, so fast that they split the air in a stuttering roll of cracking thunder.

((Contested Phys + Melee as he tries to disengage back up to the deck while Keris gives him a nosebleed.))  
((Keris is fully Excellency-loading her pursuit and boosting with Racing Vitaris. If she gets in range, she’ll be using Self-as-Cyclone Stance to throw flurries of kicks and punches at him, as well as trying to get a clinch so she can smash his head against the deck. She is entirely willing to do interior damage to the boat to get at him, though she’ll retain enough reason not to punt him through the hull. 5+5+3 Wild Alleycat+2 stunt+10 Malfeas ExD=25. 11 successes.))  
((Ney would really rather not get his face smashed through an interior door and may have slightly miscalculated, so he’s trying to get into the open air where Keris can vent some of her fury without destroying things and he plans to let her knock him into the water so she can feel better about things. 23 dice, 12 successes.))

Ney is fast - very fast, and while Keris moves in blazing lines of red cut through with silver, he’s a flickering shadow who’s never where she wants him to be so she can bloody his nose.

She chases him onto deck, burning brightly with the winds of Vitaris-Vali, and blazes across the deck. Now he starts fighting back, and his style is barely more finessed or complicated than hers; she’s a wild alleycat while he’s a bruiser who fights not unlike some of the street toughs Keris knew. But she’s got lots and lots of hair and can come at him from so many angles, while he only has two arms.

In the end she manages to corner him in all his flickering, annoyingly fast annoyingness and he seemingly trips over a discarded fishing rod and goes over backwards into the water, arms flailing.

((He wins the contest - no real damage done by either party, and he uses his victory to make a comic pratfall.))  
((Per + Pres, 10 successes to calm Keris down through slapstick.))

The stupidity of it jars Keris enough from the blind rage that her thoughts of murder are mostly gone. Still, though, she hasn’t gotten to properly hit him yet - and she wants this lesson to sink in. Her children are off-limits. Baring her teeth in a snarl, she goes over the side after him in a streamlined dive, cutting into the water and speeding up even more as the currents aid her.

The urge to pummel him until he’s black and blue and whimpering is... if not sated, then tamed. But she still intends to bloody his nose, smack him in the mouth and get one or two warning shots in at his ribs before hauling him back up onto the deck and yelling at him.

((Keris is trying again, this time for minor, targeted damage intended to just cause lingering discomfort and let him know she could still have caught up. And, lol, she’s added another 20 yards/tick to her Dash speed in the water, while he’s taking penalties. She’s still _pretty furious_ even if it’s a more rational temper now, so same boosts.  
25 dice; urgh, only 9 successes this time! Ney, did you bribe the dice fairies? What the fuck?))  
((23 dice, 18 successes - [ **10 10 10 10 10** 9 9 9 9 8 8 8 7 6 5 5 5 4 3 3 2 1 1].))

Ney goes into the water, and Keris leaps in, eyes flashing and hair seeking righteous punishment.

What, unfortunately, turns out is that he’s vanished. Again. Like an annoying piece of annoyingness. She thrashes around, glowing like a blinding red corona, seeking to punish him for his him-ness.

Only for a patch of water weed to turn out to be him in his now drenched garments. He grabs her by the hands, and guides them to ‘boop’ him on the nose, and then leaps away before her hair can seek vengeance.

And then he’s back onto the deck, out of the water in one leap.

“Come on, Kiss,” she hears him say, even from out of the water. “Everyone on shore is watching. If you still feel hurt, I’ll buy you your weight in chocolate.”

The water erupts, and a monster lands on deck between him and the stairs. Its silver-feathered hair lashes and whips around it, its hands curl and uncurl from tightly-clenched fists to crook-fingered claws and back. The blazing red-silver aura and arcs of black lightning around it fade as it stops moving, but the sunlight overhead still reflects off the glinting metal in its hair and the water beading its skin. Its teeth are bared, and as Ney watches, they turn sharp and vicious. Its hair bleeds white; leeched of colour, and its eyes go slit-pupiled like those of a cat or a snake.

With tremendous effort, Keris restrains herself from lunging at him again. She could catch him eventually, she’s sure. But it would be frustration on top of frustration, and by the time she caught up she’s not sure she’d be able to resist using something sharp and pointy. And they’re still technically on opposite sides, so too much and he might start treating her like a serious enemy. He has a good poker face, but Keris _knows_ how close she was to him in those first few chaotic seconds as they left the boat. If he’s not hiding at least a measure of concern, she’d be surprised.

“ _Never_ ,” she hisses out in a tone just shy of freezing, “ _Do that. Again._ ”

((Reaction+Investigation to see if there is any concern or fear there - how much she rattled him, heh. 5+1+2 Coadj+3 Kimmy ExSux=8. And hah! Finally the dice fairies answer. 7+3=10 sux.))  
((Actually, heh. Per+Pres for intimidation, too. 4+5+3 Prince of Hell+2 stunt+4 Malfeas ExSux=14. 4+4= 8 sux.))

The flash of fear under his usual laughing mask is something she’s never really seen before - and neither is the cold, hard, _evaluating_ look that comes after it. “Right,” he says, nodding quickly. “So, hypothetically, if a certain man had happened to make a pretty big error in knowing a certain lady’s boundaries, and what might make her go berserk versus what might make her throw a bowl of soup at his head, what would he have to do to make it up to her?”

((Apology, invoking Keris’ greed as a target to her forgiveness. 7 successes.))

Keris relaxes somewhat from her crouch, and finds that she’s panting. Hard. She’s never physically exhausted, but that chase... the sheer level of fury she was putting into trying to pummel him black and blue... it’s taken a lot out of her. Almost everything. She gulps in air she doesn’t really need, and stumbles back a couple of steps to lean against the shattered door to the stairs. Little spots dance in front of her eyes; a consequence of spending so much of her internal might so fast without calling on the light of her soul.

“Start by apologising,” she orders, once she’s caught her breath and her balance. “To everyone. And lots of chocolate, yes. And _not one annoying comment_ , for the whole...”

She hesitates. Even with the remorse Ney is currently showing, Keris is aware that no annoying comments for the whole voyage is going to be a tall order. She’s not sure he could do it even if he was willing to try. “... for the whole time we’re in the locks, until we’re underway again,” she finishes, trying to sound like she was just pausing for breath. “You _knew_ what I said about my babies. You should have seen that coming.”

“Should I apologise to the spectators too?” he asks, gesturing to the watchers on the banks and the nearby boats. Keris can hear the whispering about the sodden, demon-haired _thing_ that the hero Ney was fighting. He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I know, sorry, sorry.” He reaches behind him and recovers another one of his tubes from his back, shaking it around. It makes a sloshing noise and he takes the cap off and pours the water out. “Well, looks like that leaked.” He offers it to Keris. “Well, uh, there was paper wrapped chocolate for you in there, but it’s a bit… river-watery.”

“... I had something for you,” Keris mutters grudgingly. “But you’re going to have to work to get it, now. Downstairs. You’ve seen everyone, so apologise to them first and get introduced _properly_. Then maybe Rathan will help you smooth things over with the locals.”

Things are rather awkward downstairs, and the meal is fairly ruined. 

“What the hell, mama?!” Calesco demands, getting in Keris’ face as soon as she passes through the door. Kali squirms in her arms. “Seriously! What. The. Hell!” She bares her teeth. “When you lose your temper people get hurt, and there’s a lot of people around here who are weak!”

Behind her, Rathan is glowing a pale pink, deflecting any blame from himself out of worry, while Xasan and the girls are trying to salvage whatever they can of the meal.

“Uh,” Ney says. “Hi.”

Calesco whirls on him. “And as for you!” she snaps, eyes flashing white under her veil.

Keris gently tugs a squirming, whimpering Kali out of her daughter’s arms, but makes no effort to stop her from scolding Ney. It’s well deserved, after all. She quietly picks Ogin up from Rathan and watches, aware that she’s probably got some apologies of her own to make once Calesco is done. Especially to the girls, who’ve never seen her cut loose like that before.

As phrases like “Thoughtless”, “Inconsiderate”, and “Flaunting your skills over everyone else” drift over from Calesco’s harunging, Keris approaches the others.

“What’s going to happen now?” Fatima asks softly. “Are you going to fight?”

“No,” Keris replies at equal volume. “He knows he made a mistake, and as soon as Calesco’s finished yelling at him he’ll apologise. He likes prodding at me to get my hackles up, and he was dumb enough to think that popping up like that would just annoy me. Expect chocolate in your futures to make up for it.”

She sighs. “And I should say sorry too. I was angry, but I should have put more distance between me and the room before exploding like that. My powers can hurt people near me when I fight, and even if I wasn’t going all out, I could still have done some pretty nasty damage if you’d been any closer when I pulled on the lightning like I did.” She bows her head. “Please accept my apology. Did anyone get anything worse than earache and a fright?”

“I think things are fine,” Xasan says deeply. “But niece, your nerves are strung tighter than a banjo. You knew he was coming and you expected him to come in disguise. Why the screaming fit like that?”

“He came into _my space_ ,” Keris hisses, scowling. “He was hanging right above my _children_ , he _saw_ Ogin’s tails without me there to explain, he _heard_ Rathan and Calesco call me mother. I didn’t even know he was there, and he was _right above my family_. And he’s like _me_. If he’d thought like an Illuminationist? Burn anything not favoured by the sun? He could have...”

She bares her teeth rather than finish, shivering and clutching her babies tighter. “He could have done anything,” she says after a moment. “I don’t like being vulnerable like that. And I _warned_ him about going after my children.”

“Hmm.” Xasan looks at her, but doesn’t say much. The soft, warm sensation of Kali licking her finger brings her back to things and she looks down at her daughter who starts trying to gnaw at her knuckle. 

“And I will riddle you with arrows if you do that again!” Calesco concludes, drawing her mother’s attention back. Her eyes widen. Calesco’s disguise is tattered, and white light is shining through every slit in her clothes. Behind her veil, her eyes are burning like tiny stars.

Keris carefully walks up beside her, careful not to surprise the girl, and pulls her into a hug. Kali and Ogin join in, squeezing their eyes shut against the piercing glow but doing their best to wrap their little arms and legs and tails around Calesco’s bicep and shoulder and hair. And, uh, ear, or at least Keris thinks that’s what Ogin’s hair is trying to cuddle.

“It’s okay,” Keris soothes, rocking her a little. “He knows he made a stupid mistake, and he came down here to apologise. I’ve said sorry to the girls for losing my temper like that. We banged the ship up a fair bit and tore some river grass to bits, but nobody got hurt in the end.”

Calesco growls under her breath, and storms off. “I don’t want to talk to either of you right now,” she snaps, gathering up her girls and leaving.

This is all mama’s fault for being such a silly drama queen and making Eko’s darling little sister upset, Eko observes from inside Keris’ head. Dulmea is studiously silent.

“I am really sorry, really,” Ney says, wincing. “It wasn’t meant to be like that. She always wasn’t so… extreme to how she acted to other such tricks before.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Rathan says with a glower.

“Your other tricks weren’t in _my personal family space_ ,” Keris points out, her voice low and scathing. “If nothing else, you knew what happened to my village when I was little. Are you surprised that people I don’t trust coming into my home without warning makes me jumpy?”

Another wince. She sighs. “Well, whatever. I’m going to assume you saw the whole meeting, so...” she waves at Rathan. “This is my son Rathan. That,” she nods to the door Calesco stomped off through, “was my daughter Calesco. And these are Kali and Ogin. No point in hiding things now.”

Kali looks up at the strange man who made all the loud noises happen, sneezes in a brief confusion of form, and then spreads her newly-acquired wings and cheeps at him loudly. Ogin takes advantage of the distraction to pull himself around Keris’s shoulders with his tails and hide in mama’s hair.

Keris knows Ney well enough by now to know that it is probably causing him physical pain to avoid asking “Who’s the father?” with regards to how one of her children just turned into a bird and then probably make some pun based on it. He instead says, “The older two are your children? Wow, you’ve aged well. I had thought that you were only twenty or so, but you must be in your thirties.”

Keris and Rathan exchange cautious-but-completely-innocent glances. “They’re no more human than the twins are,” Keris says after a moment, and refuses to go into any more detail. “But Rathan is good at explaining things. Rathan, if you’re willing to go help Adami calm down the locals and provide excuses for the lightshow, Oula and I can clean everything up and maybe put the stairs back together. Uncle, can you get the ship ready to move? We have our guide and a lock permit, and even if things get smoothed over I think we want to be on our way as soon as possible.”

“Oh,” Ney says, “one advantage of having me there is that we can bypass the line. Just thought I’d mention that.”

“That’s something, at least,” Rathan says, hands in his pockets. “Come on, _old man_ , let’s get things handled.”

The two men head off, leaving Keris to her repairs with Oula.

“That was awfully scary,” Oula says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually mad.” She swallows. “It’s… uh, kind of a reminder why you’re the High Queen and even Rathan is just a prince.”

Keris gives her a quick hug. “I get mad when people threaten my family, and all of you count,” she reassures her apprentice. “But I hope you won’t have to see me mad very often. Or ever again, if we’re really lucky. Now, you get that table righted and I’ll see what I can salvage in the stairwell, hmm?”

((Phys + Occult, 12 hours raw project time, working with organic materials, Oula serves as a required assistant for the project, Diff 3))  
((Twelve hours by twenty makes it a 48-minute job. Keris will flare her caste mark to help. 5+5+2 stunt=12. 6 sux.))

Since Calesco has taken the girls off to their rooms to do things determinedly not involving the various people she’s mad at, Keris feels safe in letting the light of her soul out enough to bring out the green brand on her forehead, and the rush of energy speeds the work considerably. Oula’s architectural expertise is a great help, and the teacher and student work in companionable harmony; reassembling the stairwell and the doors Keris had blown apart in her rage, piecing together the cracked and splintered interior walls, cleaning up the overturned meal and battered table and generally setting things to rights.

All told, with both of them working at it, it’s done in just over three quarters of an hour, and that’s with Keris being careful not to strain herself too much. She’s thrown around quite enough power for the moment, and while the rush from her soul is buoying her up for the moment, she can tell she’s going to feel it later.

Rathan returns while Keris has Oula clearing up the mercury she left traces of over the area.

“Things are done, mama,” he reports, hands tucked into his sleeves. “All clean enough. He was sparring with a fire-aspected friend of his. After all, most of them only saw the red light - and a few words were enough to have them realise that the red turning white hair was just a fire Dragonblooded thing.” He grins. “After all, red fire turns into white ash,” he brags. “... also, mama, are you making my girlfriend scrub the floor? Isn’t that what the humans are for?”

“The humans get sick if they handle mercury,” Keris points out. “Also, Calesco took them off in a huff and I don’t really want to go prod her until she’s worked off her head of mad. It was Ney’s fault, and she’s yelled at him over it, but you know how she is. When she’s really annoyed she tends to spread it around to everyone; guilty or not. Best to let her cool down.”

She drops a kiss on his head. “Well done for settling everyone down again outside. That Fire Aspect idea was very clever. Did Ney come back to the barge with you, or is he getting us bumped up the queue for the locks?”

Rathan nods. “He’s off to the locks, and told me to get us started past everyone else. It’s much easier this way, isn’t it?” He pauses, rolling his shoulders. “I like him,” he admits. “He’s funny, and he’s got a good attitude to having to do work. He’d be really annoying if he was always hyper - like Eko…”

She heard that, Eko gestures angrily in Keris’ head.

“... but he’s nice and laid back.”

“Mmm,” Keris responds. “Don’t let him fool you. His mind is always working under the laughter and jokes, and he sees more than you think. He’s not as lazy as he pretends to be, either. Did you get a sense of whether he’s judgemental towards us?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he likes me,” Rathan says smugly. “We got on pretty well when we were tricking the silly humans. He likes fishing too. Although he said that Calesco is a little terror, which is… well, one-hundred percent accurate. She got so mad at both of you she was letting white light out. What the hell was that, mama? She’s shadows and stuff, not hurty bright light.” He crosses his arms. “What’s up with that? I’m the light in your world, not her!”

Keris purses her lips. “The light is connected to one of Calesco’s personal secrets,” she says. “So I can’t and won’t say too much about it. But it’s a real part of her. If you’re a moon, I think she’s a star, deep down. But it’s the nature of her light to hurt things and rip away comforts, so she covers it with her shadows and the dark night sky and pretends otherwise. I’ve only seen it a few times.” She puts a hand on Rathan’s shoulder. “Please don’t use this against her. She doesn’t like that side of herself very much. And I don’t want to see her unleash her light in full during some really heated argument or fight. It hurts her to show it as much as it hurts those who see it, I think.”

Rathan looks at Keris, arms crossed, and clearly thinks deeply before he says anything else. “Hmm,” he says. “OK. Yeah. OK.” He shrugs. “Anyway, I like Ney,” he admits. “I don’t trust him, but I like him. Hey, Oula, do you think he’s hot?”

Oula looks up from where she’s trying to get rid of a mercury stain on the wall. “Why’re you asking me?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Of course not, he’s not you,” she says, offence clear in her voice.

“No, not like that, babe. Like, imagine I wasn’t around. What then?”

“I dunno. I hardly saw anything of him,” Oula says, with a shudder. “I guess he was tall, and slender. He was really fast, so he probably has nice muscles under that shabby green clothing. I didn’t like his taste there.”

“Mmm, yeah. He’s pretty handsome.” Rathan looks back at Keris. “He’ll look good on your arm once you pretty him up and get him wearing something other than work clothes.”

“Can we _not_ discuss how attractive my... my...” Keris stutters; cheeks flaming. “I mean, he’s not... look, can we just focus on getting through the locks? We’ve spent enough time here already. Let’s be on our way.”

They’re just let past the queue of other barges and riverboats, cutting at least a day off their travel. There are certainly advantages to this, Keris thinks happily as she hugs Ogin. He’s dressed in a little snug fur-lined garment that goes a very good impression of him having legs. Kali is still a chick, so she’s just nesting in a fur-lined pouch. It’s cold outside and it’s snowing again, so Keris has made a little chick hat for when Kali wants to poke her head out.

Ney appears back on deck in a flash of movement, stretching. “Gods, I hate dealing with paper-pushers,” he says with a yawn. “Making such a big deal about ‘keeping it off the books’ being ‘against protocol’. Remind me to go steal her records after this’s done.”

“He really does sound like you, Aunty Keris,” Oula oberves. She’s underdressed for a human in this weather, wearing a light dress, but then again she’s used to the Sea. And living on a moon made of ice. This light snow weather a little above freezing is probably a balmy day for a Sea-dweller like her. 

“Well, we’re sensible people,” Ney says. “And not obsessed with records, unlike settled people.” He looks at Oula more closely. “I don’t think I really met you, although Rathan talked about you. You’re Oula, right? His girlfriend?”

“And his true love,” Oula says smugly. “I gave him my heart.”

Ney nods. “Well, have fun with that,” he says absently. “Anyway, Kiss, do you want to ride the boat up or head up into the lock mechanisms so you can watch it from the outside? It’s something to watch, the lock gate mechanisms, and you liked the canvas wings.”

“Let me put the twins down for a nap, then I’m all for it,” Keris agrees. “Oula, keep an eye on them? I think they’ve worn themselves out, but they might be planning a repeat of that time a week ago when they pretended to be sleepy and then snuck out of the crib and got halfway down the corridor before anyone noticed.”

Oula salutes. “I’ll make sure they stay wrapped up in bed,” she promises. “And distract them with singing if they wake up.”

Keris gives her a hug, spends the required ten minutes tucking her babies in and playing the strands of Time to compliment their sleepy little yawns, coos a little over how adorable they are snuggled up to each other - Kali-chick nestled into the crook of Ogin’s shoulder - and then heads back up to the deck. A daytime nap should give her an hour or two before they wake up and want entertainment again.

“Alright, show me these lock workings,” she commands. “They’d better impress me!”

It’s just a hop and a skip across icy waters to the shore, and into the main ancient stone structure that makes up the lock-adjacent mechanisms.

“By my understanding,” Ney says, hands stuffed up his sleeves as he strolls past the watchful guards at the door with a casual nod, “Before the naib fixed this place up, they used to have to unload things up the top and then they had an trail that led down the hillside. Then they loaded things back up on a new boat. That was before my time, but that sounds super slow and annoying.”

He rolls his shoulders.

“But now,” he says, stepping past a second row of guards - wow, there’s a lot of them here - “everything is much easier and faster. And it’s all because of…”

They step through another door, into a vast hollow shaft filled with the sound of running water. Blue light from the crystals on the walls makes Keris feel like she’s underwater.

“Because of this.”

The walls in here are white, and painted with stylised symbolic representations of water gods at play. The art is non-representative, and the gods’ forms are made of carefully painted letters in Old Realm. There are ten or openings in the wall, and each is ringed with characters in black jade. Water flows from opening to opening, defying gravity and any sense of realism; moving where it needs to go. It’s like a spring falling down stairs - looping elegant flow from location to location. Here and there there are brass pipes to guide the flow.

And down the centre of the hollow room falls a waterfall, plunging from the heights into a lumpy, inelegant block of black jade that looks like part of an ancient statue. It’s been carven with all kinds of invocatory phases, thanking the river gods. Keris feels it thrum and pulse, guiding the water from here to there to here to there.

Priests in gold-trimmed leather robes patrol the room, checking on the jade and forming a low droning choir who keep up a constant song.

Keris makes a quiet noise a little like an “eeeee~”. Her sketchpad comes out, and she looks around raptly.

“This is going to give me such a headache later,” she says, “but it’ll totally be worth it. Don’t make any loud noises near me for a while, okay?” Warning given, she half-closes her eyes and amps up her hearing. The pouring of the waterfall becomes a cacophonous cascade, the shuffling footsteps of the priests a multitude of pounding drums - even Ney’s breathing is a bellows to her side. But as loud as the rest of it is, underneath the merely mortal noises she can now hear the underlying essence-song of this fantastic place; the notes that guide the streams of water, the reverberant hum of the great jade block, the melodies of the jade openings on the wall as they dip and rise and fall.

Her hand blurs over the sketchpad with a charcoal stick as she starts assembling a landscape of the scene; musical notes so heavy around the things her poor, limited eyes see that the paper is more sheet music than sketch.

She’s aware of Ney shamelessly peeking over her shoulder as she draws, and speaks in a whisper to him between noting down chords. “You should show Rathan this. He’s a water-worker. He’d love it.” A pause as she roughs out the decorations on the walls - and even they have their own subtle tunes that her hypersensitive ears can detect. “Or be offended and want to one-up it,” she adds belatedly. “But that would probably be too much effort. The naib built this himself?”

((UWR roll: 3+5+2 stunt+4 Kimmy ExD {discerning eye, beauty, secrets}=14. 8 sux. Keris gets a very good understanding of the magic of the place, and also a headache from overstraining her hearing. Ney gets a look at a bunch of Occult notes he doesn’t understand in the slightest but probably intends to steal later for security reasons and maybe show to the naib, and also finds out that Keris’s occult paradigm seems to be very music-focused.))  
((It’s an artifact? A set of artifacts? A Working anchored in the big jade thing?))  
((At a technical level, it’s an arcane Project - not strictly speaking a Working because it’s not sorcery based, but it’s an example of how crafting can do the same kind of thing without needing a sorcerer. However, as part of a greater arrangement, the jade lump that Keris thinks was hacked off a statue and reposed is an artefact which serves as the focal point. If this was sorcery, it’d be the Anchor, but here it’s just a component of the Project.))

“The way I hear it,” Ney says, in a whisper where he’s barely making a noise, “this place was ancient originally. Built by… well, who we used to be. Previous champions of the Sun. But it stopped working and was abandoned even before the Contagion. Taym had it repainted and found the black jade to make all the water move again.” He shrugs. “Most of the locks work by diverting water with pipes and stuff. There’s only a few like this which use the blackrock things to make the water just move where it needs to go.”

“Mmm,” Keris hums, unconsciously pitching it to compliment the deep reverb of the statue-fragment. “That makes sense. I’ve seen his style with the canvasbirds, and there are bits kind of like it here - surface-level refrains and tempo; things the conductor does a little differently each performance - but the base symphony is completely different. I’ve not seen much else like it.” Yamal’s tomb, maybe, but she’d been too young and dumb to understand what she was looking at back then. She squints through her pounding head. “What was the statue of? Do you know? I can’t make out much detail; the waterfall is too loud.”

“Dunno,” he says with a shrug. “‘Snot something I ever bothered to ask about. It’s a lump of jade that makes the water go up and down. Which it does very very fast. Most of the time’s gonna be moving the boats from lock to lock. It’s something like a metre a second when all the gates are aligned and you don’t have to wait mid-way up. Hey, have you got anything like this where you’re from?”

Keris has to think about that. ‘Where she’s from’ is a question that might have four or more answers - Nexus, Hell, the Southwest, the empire-domain within her soul... even Taira itself, technically. Of those, only Hell has anything like these locks, but they work by very different and rather more... organic principles. In the Demon City, this stone chamber would be home to an enormous cephalopodian creature; all fleshy valves and muscular tubes and pale flesh, bred specifically for the purpose and coaxed into forcing water in and out of different brass pipes by demon attendants. Or it would be some contraption of Ligier’s; a brass engine powered by flame to work the pumps - if not simply a ladder of green light like his bridges that picked up boats and deposited them at the top or bottom in a constant stream.

“... not really,” she says, her mind shifting to Shuu Mua. “I can see uses for it on the island near where I’m set up, though. This would let me get boats right up into the heights. I’m going to have to... to take notes.”

She sighs. “Come on, let’s get back to the barge. I wouldn’t mind feeling the lift if it hasn’t already gone through, and if it has we should get moving.”

Hands tucked back inside his sleeves, Ney heads out with a “Very good job, very secure, all clear” to the guards. “Looks like they’re still getting it into position,” he says with a yawn. “Do you want to ride it up, or we could go have lunch together. Because I didn’t get any. And spent all that time on the ceiling smelling your wonderful cooking, but not being able to move a muscle or you’d have heard me. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

Keris sniffs haughtily. “If you’re hungry, that’s your own fault for doing something so stupid. If you’d just come to the boat openly, you could have had some and we’d have avoided all the unpleasantness.” She smiles smugly. “And I learnt on my own. I’m just that good. So we’ll ride it up, and you can have some leftovers as part of your punishment.”

Ney affects a look of tragic woe, but follows along readily enough as Keris marches back to the boat. Kali and Ogin are still napping, so she assembles a platter of the now-cold food that didn’t get ruined in the commotion and shoves it at him huffily, keeping a little back to feed to Rounen when she goes down to check on him.

Then she sits on deck and waits.

“It looks like we’re in position,” she complains after a minute or so. “When are we going to g-whooaa!”

“I did tell Rathan to make sure everything breakable was strapped down,” Ney says mildly, from where he’s sprawled out on a leaf-bench. “Normally things wouldn’t be this fast, but I set aside the entire flow for us. Usually it’s much more gradual because the water’s filling all the locks so you can lift five boats upstream and five downstream at once. Having fun?”

Keris regains her footing and whoops as the water rushes by. She’s tempted to dive in and feel it from a better perspective, and only the risk of attracting attention holds her back. “This is great!” It’s slower than her standards of moving-through-water, but not by much, and the sheer magnitude of river being lifted along with them gives a sense of momentum that’s only beaten out by the _Baisha_ and Ligier’s lightbridges. She laughs again, letting her hair fan out and catch the wind as they climb.

Alas, it’s a ride that must come to an end. Keris pouts and grumbles as they reach the top of the locks, and renews her determination to make one of these for herself back in Shuu Mua. One that she can ride as many times as she wants.

Then, once they’re out of the last lock gate and back onto the boring, slow river and the long queue of boats waiting for the descent, she quietly instructs Rathan to keep Ney distracted and heads down to the bowels of the ships with the tidbits she kept back.

The dry, shrivelled corpse is still lying there in its deathbed. There’s been no change in five days.

“Hello Rounen,” Keris murmurs quietly. There are some flowers arranged next to him - white ones. Calesco must have been down here recently, standing watch over him again. Keris brushes them with a smile. “Feeding time,” she adds, her fingers stretching into grey roots and picking up the first piece of fish. “Did you feel the surge just now? We went up a set of river locks. There’s magic in their workings. You’ll have to get better soon so you can take down my notes about it, yeah? And the shaking and banging before that was me; Adami got me a little angry by doing something stupid...”

She keeps up the low stream of chatter as she feeds him, piece by piece. There’s no response, but it feels better to talk. It reminds her there’s someone in there who she’s talking to.

Ney is waiting for her upstairs once Keris has finished seeing Rounen. “See,” he says, gesturing floridly to both her and Rathan. “I can be good! I didn’t _once_ leave a fake body-double and sneak down to see what was going on down there.” He shrugs. “Though only because Kiss chasing me is way too much effort to happen once in one day.”

Rathan snorts. Keris is feeling a little ganged-up on there.

She gives both of them a narrow-eyed look, and points accusingly at Ney. “No sneaking around my ship tonight poking your nose into places to see what’s in them. My mother’s ghost is onboard, you know that much. And she _will_ attack you if she sees you. I’m going to have to hold vigil for her tonight and explain things anyway. So keep to your room and don’t go getting into any more trouble!”

“Urgh,” Rathan grumbles, “and she’s acting like my little sister now.”

“I’m assuming you’re talking about the older one,” Ney says. “The little one just seemed adorable.”

The narrow-eyed look only intensifies, and Keris jabs her finger at Ney again. “ _You_ are going to be a terrible influence, I can tell,” she hisses. “And I’m going to tell her you said that. Rathan, don’t pick up too many of his terrible habits. And there’s nothing wrong with acting like Haneyl sometimes!”

Wheeling around, she stomps back off below deck, composing a mental litany of complaints against the annoying men and boys in her life. She loves Rathan dearly, she truly does, but if he starts making the same sort of teasing, irritating comments as Ney... oooo, she’s going to do something horrible to the man. Like spiking all his food for the rest of the trip with Swamp peppers.

... actually that sounds like a good idea. She might just do that anyway.

“Calesco?” she calls, knocking on the door to her daughter’s and Kuha’s shared room. “If you’re willing to stop being mad at me for a while, I can help you be mad at Adami in exchange. Please? I need someone to vent to about how annoying he is!”

“I’m calmed down,” Calesco says glumly. “Come in, mama. We need to talk. I’m… I’m scared…”

Keris’s eyebrows rise sharply, and her hair fidgets as she opens the door quietly and slips inside. The girls aren’t in evidence - she can hear them in their own shared room just down from this one - and Calesco is sitting hunched on the bed.

Sitting down next to her, Keris puts an arm around her daughter’s shoulder and coaxes her in to lean on her. Unlike most of her siblings, she’s small enough still that she can do it without bending herself in half. It’s a nice sensation; or it would be if not for the topic at hand.

“Your starlight?” Keris asks. “You got pretty angry at him back there.”

“I… I… remember that first night I was out?” Calesco says. “You… you talked about trying to relax a bit more and balance and things like that and… and Haneyl is so _comfortable_ balancing her natures and she’s happy like that and… and I’ve been trying to… when no one is around, I’ve been trying to do that because you were so happy when you saw me happy and I’ve tried to be happier but I was just slipping and if I’d let myself go then and hadn’t gone off to cool down I’d have unleashed myself fully and,” her hands and her hair are ringing together and she avoids Keris’ eyes. “R-remember that time? When we became demon lords properly? I d-d-don’t want to ever do that again.”

“I remember,” Keris says solemnly. “And I’m very proud of you for knowing your limits and choosing to walk away when you did. _You_ made that call, and you made it exactly right - you kept your head and noticed when you were slipping and left rather than let go.” She squeezes Calesco’s shoulders slightly. “I think we can both name people who might not have stayed so level-headed and controlled, though I won’t mention them out loud,” she adds with a hint of humour. It gets a smile; albeit a brief and tiny one.

“And I don’t think you were wrong to let some of your light out, either,” she continues. “That halfway form; the night sky one... it was justified, there.” Keris waves a hand, searching for a metaphor. “Your piercing light tempered by your shadows, cruelty in the name of compassion - the same as when you were angry about the stars of Hell? Adami fucked up back there. He deserved you ripping him a new one, and it’ll hopefully make him _think_ more in future and not do something so stupid again. You weren’t being harsh to enjoy it, you were doing it to protect. It might not feel nice when you slip into your halfway state that way, but I haven’t argued with you on either time I’ve seen you use it.”

She drops a kiss on Calesco’s hair. “I did have to explain a few things to Rathan afterwards,” she says apologetically. “Not many details; just that it really was part of you, that it was your secret and that he shouldn’t prod you about it. And I do hope you find ways of getting to that balance besides being righteously angry and protective of the weak. But you’re doing really well, darling. I’m proud of you. You haven’t had much time to work on it yet, and you’re already doing well.”

Calesco looks up at Keris, with angry eyes. There’s a hint of white shining through the red. “Why won’t you _punish_ me?” she demands. “I nearly hurt everyone! I nearly hurt the babies! All because I’m selfish and want to feel good like Haneyl manages to! I don’t _want_ your forgiveness! I need to be taught not to take stupid risks like this for the sake of myself!” By the end of her little speech, she’s on her feet, fists balled.

“You _didn’t_ , though,” says Keris. It’s an effort to stay calm, but instinct tells her that’s what Calesco needs right now - for Keris to weather her self-directed anger unaffected and calmly, patiently talk her around. “Wanting to feel good is not selfish, Calesco. I will never punish you for _not wanting to be miserable_ , ever. And I don’t agree. You didn’t take a stupid risk. You know that you telling me you’d been practicing with your light on this trip was the first I knew about it? I know about how you’ve been letting your light out in Vali’s clouds, back in the Domain, but I hadn’t picked up on it here in Taira. You’ve been taking precautions, and they’ve been very good ones.”

She loops a hair tendril around Calesco’s waist and tugs her closer, until she can take Calesco’s hands in her own and rub circles on the backs of her palms until the tight fists start to loosen.

“You couldn’t have predicted Ney doing something that stupid, and even when you were shocked and provoked, you still didn’t hurt anyone. That tells me that your trials have been _working_ , not that you’ve been doing something bad. And... and the twins weren’t hurt. We’d be having a different conversation if they had been, though still not the one you seem to want to have.”

Keris manages to work Calesco’s fingers fully open, and threads her own fingers through her daughter’s. She looks Calesco in the eye, meeting the glimmer of white and hoping her next comment won’t intensify it.

“Calesco, do you actually think you did something wrong here, or are you just looking for a reason to be punished?”

Calesco recoils as if slapped. “N-no, of course not,” she actually stammers, her composure cracking. “Of course I… I was doing things for _me_ , not for others and… you’re too soft on me! You’re always too soft on me! Even when I do stupid, dangerous things like letting out the horrible side of me because I want to be happy and that’s _bad_ , not good! I don’t deserve to be happy if my happiness hurts others!” She glares at Keris, her pupils distant stars. “You know that too!”

“But you do deserve to be happy,” Keris says firmly. “Calesco, I love you, and I love how compassionate you are, and I adore you for thinking of others so much, but you cannot live your whole life sacrificing any happiness you might hope to get because you think your efforts would be better spent on them.” She drags a hair tendril through her fringe, unwilling to actually let go of Calesco’s hands but needing an outlet for her frustration as she casts around for support on her point.

“Everything... no, let me think... okay, look at Haneyl again. Not how she balances easily, but how she catches fire every so often and burns and renews her way for more growth.” Keris nods, warming to her new topic. “It’s how the Swamp works and it’s how _she_ works - and her burnings risk hurting people. But if she tried to suppress them and never have them at all for fear of her fire maybe going too far out of control, she’d wind up dull and listless and depressed and ashen all the time, and her court would suffer all the more for it. Right?”

She fixes Calesco with another look. “If you fight down any wants of your own, you will be miserable. And if you are miserable all the time, not only would it break my heart to see you hurting, but you’ll also be less... well, you’ll be _less_. Haneyl and Vali aren’t the only ones who get tired and need to refuel or recharge; they’re just the most obvious about it. If you must think of others; think of that - you can do _more_ good and you can help _more_ people and you can _be_ better if you’re happy.” Keris looks down for a moment, an almost shy smile forming unbidden. “Like... like how having you and your siblings has made _me_ happy, and how being happy has made me better. You know what I was like before you all came along, and now... now I’m different. Now you’re proud of some of the things I do.”

Calesco’s next protest is easy enough to anticipate and forestall, and Keris holds up a finger before she can start. “Not _all_ of your happinesses even risk hurting people at all - I know you like singing, and teaching your keruby, and you always seem to enjoy tea as long as there aren’t too many people there. And other things, like how you’re satisfied and content after an archery session... yes, archery can hurt people if you do it wrong, but that’s why you take care with it and make sure to be safe. And then you can use it to protect, if you ever really need to. As far as I’m concerned, the same goes for your night-sky form.”

Calesco’s answer, when it comes, is low and soft. “Then why do you smother me in kindness?” The whites of her eyes are black, but the irises are white - and the pupils are stars. She tilts her head, jutting her jaw out almost viciously, a cruel look in her eyes. “You hurt me by not hurting me. You’d rather drown me in tar and not have to watch than make me pay by your hand for putting your babies at risk. If you don’t hurt me, you don’t really love me. You know that. I know that. My other mother knows it. We hurt the ones we love and because you don’t hurt me when I deserve it, I might as well question if you really love me.”

She takes a deep breath and her eyes return to normal. “That.” She gasps. “That’s who I become if I let things out. Don’t talk to me with your false kindness. And punish me for even risking that sort of thing.”

Keris rises to meet the sudden lashing out. “False kindness? You’re reaching now, baby. You’re too willing to hurt me to provoke me into doing what you want.” She smiles, and it’s half sad acknowledgement, half sly victory. “It’s getting predictable. You _should_ know better than to think my love for you is false, and it hurts that you even think to question it. But you still won’t push me into hurting you like you want me to.”

She purses her lips, eyes narrowing. “If you want a punishment, though...” Keris’s long fingers drum against her hip contemplatively. “Then I think there’s a perspective we’re missing here. You seem very intent on being hurt or injured, but that’s not your body to volunteer for injury. I can’t imagine Kuha could possibly have slept through this, so...”

The sly smile shifts into a full-blown smirk. “So, if you’re set on being punished like a child, so be it. But if you say I’m too soft, then you’re far too harsh. So you don’t get to decide what happens. Kuha? What are your thoughts on this?”

Kuha coughs. “Uh, I don’t really want to have my body hurt,” she says meekly. “Do I get a say?”

“Yes,” says Keris firmly. “In fact, since Calesco _wants_ me to hurt her and she seems to think I’m too kind, you get quite an important say. You’ve been listening, and I’m willing to bet you saw the blow-up that caused this. Do _you_ think Calesco did anything wrong? Not just practicing with her starlight, either. She hasn’t really been holding to the original deal of her at night and you during the day. Do you think she deserves to be punished, and if so, what for? Ignoring that she’s in your body at the moment - there are ways around that.”

Keris can tell when Calesco is in charge and Kuha is, right now. The expressions and the sit of the face shifts. And right now Keris can see that Kuha is feeling super awkward and doesn’t want to be in between Keris and Calesco, especially given the thing going on between them that Keris _wants to know absolutely nothing about_.

“I wouldn’t really know,” she hedges her bets. “She does need telling off for not keeping to the deal, but that’s… that’s minor and we can probably talk that out and… look, she asked me, I’m just saying what I think, it is my body!”

A thin red eyebrow rises. “You _wanted_ to be punished, Calesco,” Keris points out. “Don’t go snapping at Kuha when I ask for her opinion on the things you want to be punished for. So, two possible wrongs. Being careless with your starlight, and breaking your deal with Kuha.” She drums her fingers on her hip again. “I still don’t feel that the first was wrong of you - seeking balance is not a crime. But I suppose you’re right that it _could_ have gone worse than it did.”

Pursing her lips, she thinks for a while. After a moment, her lips curve up in a grin that can only be described as wicked. “So. No pain or beating or anything like that. Your punishment for losing your temper so expressively is the same as mine. You will apologise to each and every person on the boat who you put at risk - except for Adami, who deserved it - and ask them to forgive you. Including your brother. And the twins. I’m aware they won’t give you much of an answer, but if you convince them both to cuddle you and keep them happy for half an hour or so, you can count yourself forgiven.”

Keris has to suppress a cackle at the Calescoid outrage that flashes across Kuha’s shared face. It’s definitely a punishment, but apparently it’s very much not the kind that she’d wanted. Keris holds up a finger to cut her off, and continues. “On the matter of Kuha and your deal; you will hold to it _rigidly_ from now on, and if you want to take over during the day, you first ask Kuha and then if she agrees; she asks me. Understand?”

“Th-that’s not fair!” Calesco flusters. “It’s… that’s not painful! That’s… that’s just inconvenient! And involves going to Rathan in a… a position he’ll try to take advantage of! Why does he get to benefit!”

“It’s not painful, but it’s awkward and uncomfortable and you won’t like doing it,” says Keris, a trifle smugly. “Which is why it’s a punishment. And the apology puts everyone you’re apologising to in a position they can benefit from, because - like you said - you were bleeding pinpricks of your starlight at them. Though you might be surprised at Rathan’s reaction.”

She very well might, too. Keris has a good sense of how her son weighs debts and crimes, and he puts a high weight on intent. Calesco’s actions were done first from the simple desire to be happier, and then in outrage at how close Ney and Keris had come to hurting people. He’ll probably be a bit of an ass about it, but Keris is fairly sure he’ll grant the same easy forgiveness as Keris herself.

Also, she had that talk with him. But Calesco doesn’t know how readily he’d agreed to that. Hopefully, Keris thinks, being forgiven and hugged by everyone on the ship might even help a bit with Calesco’s self-esteem issues, and watching from the back of Kuha’s mind more often will give her time to think about it.

“Well.” Calesco takes a deep breath. “In that case, Kuha, can I have the time to go do the… apologies?” She speaks as if each word is dragged out of her.

“Well, I don’t know. I suppose so. Fine,” Kuha says playfully.

Calesco glares at Keris. “That better? Well, I’m going to go apologise to the babies first. So you can go and get kissy with Adami or something.”

She stalks out, heading through to the room where the babies are tucked up in their cot. They’ve woken up, and fortunately haven’t escaped, although Oula is looking a little fraught.

“Oh, Calesco, Aunty Keris, have you come to…”

“Yes, you can go,” Calesco says kindly. 

There’s a little sigh of relief from Oula and she leaves with indecent speed. 

Reaching in, Calesco picks up chick-Kali with her hair, and Ogin with her arms. She scoots them around so she can see them both. Two sets of eyes; one silver in a human face, one golden in a bird skull focus on her. 

“Caaaaaa!” Kali peeps happily. “Caaaaaa ma ma floo!”

Calesco gives Keris a slightly confused, yet soft look. “If you say so,” she says. “Uh. You two. I need to… this really is silly, mama, they’re not going to understand a thing I say. Fine! Kali, Ogin, I…” she pauses, and gently stops Ogin trying to eat her fingers, “You two, I’m sorry. I nearly lost my temper and hurt you. It’s all my fault and you don’t deserve it. I don’t ever want to hurt you.” She bounces Kali up and down, and Kali cheeps and then giggles, little soft wings flapping. “I promise I’ll try not to do it again, but I can’t say I won’t. I don’t want to hurt you, but it might happen and I’ll be so so sorry. Um.”

Ogin looks up at her with grave eyes, and latches on more firmly with his tails. With both chubby hands, he pats her forearms, then leans forwards and wraps his hands around her arm, resting his head on her arm.

“Caaaaaa!” Kali says wisely, flapping her wings.

Keris smiles. For all that Calesco complained, she does seem more settled now. Less furiously convinced that she should be hurt. And hey, maybe Ogin did understand some of that. At least enough to put together that his big sister was being bright and angry and painful earlier, and now she’s being quiet and sweet and sad. He’s a bright boy. He might have worked out that the two are linked.

Regardless, his hug is making the remaining tension in Calesco’s frame ease away a little, bit by bit. Keris nods happily. Punishing her children is not something she ever really wants to do, but this particular form seems to be doing more good than harm. And is pretty funny, too.

“Half an hour with them,” she reminds Calesco. “And then you can go find the girls. And your brother.”

She’s not quite giggling as she leaves, but it’s a close thing.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s after sunset, and outside the wind is screaming up a gale. Keris has needed to go out and fix things up and placate Rathan, who’s sulking at how she’s called a stop. She understands how he feels. She’s wasted enough time already and that means she doesn’t want to moor up for the night, but the wind is strong enough they can’t make headway against the current after the ice in the flow damaged the paddlewheel. Using the sails is out of the question.

As a result, she’s spending some time enjoying the company of her babies in her bedroom. Kali-as-a-kitten and Ogin are listening attentively as she tells them a story of what she and Rat got up to on the streets and how they once stole some fireworks and set them off, and the babies giggle when Keris puts on the funny voices for the angry traders who’d chased them.

Well, mostly it’s Kali who giggles despite being a tiger cub. Ogin just watches and listens seriously with his big silver eyes.

The peace and quiet is broken when Kerisa comes through the wall, and dives into the bed, squirming in and knocking over Ogin who falls on his back. Kali yowls, and throws herself at the ghost. Keris almost is about to scold her, when she realises that the ghost is shaking and… well, acting like a scared child, hiding under the sheets.

“Kerisa?” she says, bewildered; breaking off her story to stare at the lump under the blankets. “What’s wrong? Are we under attack?” She hasn’t _heard_ anything alarming, so if they are their attackers are being very quiet about things. “Or is Adami being an ass again?”

“She’s being really scary,” Kerisa mutters, her voice muffled. Kali strains in Keris’ grip, trying to attack Kerisa for knocking over her brother. “The scary ghost, your mama. She’s really angry. Really, really angry.”

Oh. Oh, shit. Mama hadn’t been happy just with Keris _talking_ to Ney. And now she’s invited him onboard.

“Crap,” Keris groans. “Okay, Kali, sweetie, shush, here...” She scoops up Ogin, pressing him and Kali together in the hopes that it will stop the yowling. “Kerisa, stay in here, I need to go take care of this; Fatima!”

This last is a shout at the nearest person on the boat, and Keris presses her babies on the surprised girl as she bolts out of the room, fixing her with a deadly serious look. “Get them to Calesco and tell her to watch them for an hour or so,” she orders. “I need to deal with something.”

Then she rushes downstairs towards her mother’s coffin, mentally swearing all the way.

The air grows thinner as Keris approaches her mother’s bones. Inside, she can hear the muffled sound of things breaking - and it shouldn’t be that muffled. Of course, she doesn’t need to breathe. But that’s just as well, because she’s not entirely sure if she could.

She opens the door, and-

((Keris is hit by an Illusion effect by the Harrow the Mind charm, which creates a fantasy world of some description. It costs 1wp to resist.))  
((Since when has Keris ever resisted anything Maryam-ghost has done? Bar that one time she took back control when being Ridden _to make statements in her mother’s favour_. She doesn’t even struggle against the illusion.))

-she’s no longer in the fleshy organic boat. No, she’s standing at the bottom of a hill. The sun is blood red even though it’s high in the sky, but the shadows from the dead black trees is that of dust. The ground is dusty and covered in rotting leaves.

At the peak of the hill is the tallest tree, and even from this distance Keris can recognise the figure that hands from it.

The rope creaks.

“Mama,” Keris says desperately as she approaches, a sinking feeling already forming in her gut. “I can explain; he’s giving you a sacrifice, justice on your killers, an _istandar_. He knows you’re right to take vengeance, he _agrees_ with you, he’s _helping_ us get your hands around the throat of the one who owned that caravan. You said he owes a blood price; he’s paying it! He’s... you said he was responsible if he didn’t act against the ones who deserve to die, and he _is_ , mama, please! The one with your blood on his hands, he’s only one step below the naib, and Ney is giving him up for you to kill because he knows it’s right that you should be avenged! I promise!”

“It’s him,” Maryam gasps through her ruined throat where she hangs. The rope creaks like it’s breathing. “The burning one. He hunted us. He tried to kill us! And he burns! He’s the one you let touch you! That monster, that ruining monster who would deny us our revenge! You let him defile you.” 

Her milky eyes glare down at Keris.

“How could you betray me like this?”

“I- I’m not...” Keris stutters helplessly. “He... your other half; your other self nearly killed him; he hasn’t gone after her since, he didn’t _know_ back then...”

The defensive pleas sound weak even to her ears. Nevertheless; she tries.

“He lost, mama. You beat him and he knows it, and now he’s... he’s helping, mama. He’s Harborite, he didn’t know you were a mother unavenged back then and now he does, he’s guiding us. We can’t find the istandar without him; we _need_ him - and he knows I’ll hurt him if he tries anything, I made sure of it.”

She gulps, rallying courage. “M-Mama... you, you might have to choose. Do you want to attack Adami, or do you want to get your hands around the throat of the man who owned that caravan; the one who ordered you and Papa taken and our family split up and whose men killed you? Because we... we can’t get to him without Adami’s help. If you attack him now, it’ll be far longer before you get your revenge on the one who most deserves it.”

Crossing her fingers behind her back, cringing in anticipation of her mother’s rage, Keris silently prays that the vengeful ghost is still calm enough to listen to reason.

Her mother isn’t calm. She weeps crimson tears as she hangs from the tree below the bloody sky. They roll down her bloated face. “You don’t understand, Keris!” she chokes. “I need revenge! Every day, every hour, every second I don’t have revenge hurts as if I’m still up there.” She rattles. “This is how it feels, Keris. I’m showing you how it feels every second of every day!

“And you think I should stay like this? That you want me to spare this spoiled, lazy lord who tried to hunt part of me, your mother, rather than letting me have his life so the pain can stop? Just for a little bit? Keris, why do you hate me? Why do you hate me to make me do this? Give me someone tonight. If not him, someone else. But I. Need. It. To. Stop. Hurting!”

((WP spent, 4+1 successes on Per + Presence roll to make a counteroffer to Keris that she’ll spare him for now if Keris hunts down someone else for her.))

“Of course,” Keris agrees, nodding rapidly, eyes wide. “Of course I will, mama, you can use my body again; find another group of slavers, just like last time. I’m sorry we’re not moving faster, I’m sorry it’s hurting you, I don’t... I love you, mama. I don’t want you to hurt.”

She spreads her arms and closes her eyes. “I’m sorry, mama. Let me make it up to you.”

The feeling is different this time. Maybe it’s because her mind is already captivated in a dream, but it’s slower. It’s a slow choking, not a fast strangulation. She nearly blacks out, but something stops her and she finds herself behind her own eyes.

Her body gasps for air, but it’s not her doing it. Her body lifts its hand and flexes it in front of her face.

“Every time I do this, Keris, it reminds me of what they stole from me,” Maryam gasps. Keris isn’t sure if her mother knows that she’s here, or whether she’s just talking to herself. “The quiet is awful. No heartbeat, no pulse, no breaths. Just the creak of the rope. And the pain, no, the pain, it never goes away.” 

It’s only after a bit that Keris realises her mother is muttering to herself in her native tongue - not the Rivertongue of Taira, but a Firetongue so distinct from the Tengese version she knows that she doesn’t understand how she understands it. Maybe some of the memory of her mother’s birthtongue is bleeding in through her.

((Keris can, if she wishes, spend XP to acquire dots in Firetongue (Harbourite) as a language Style. If she doesn’t, this knowledge fades when her mother is no longer possessing her.))  
((Keris will totally learn her mother tongue for 6mxp, and you are awful for setting this opportunity up solely to make that pun.))

Her mother stretches, and then sets off, stalking in a way which makes Keris’ legs ache. Her mother doesn’t quite use her muscles right, maybe because she was a taller woman than her daughter. 

“Aunty, what are you-” begins Oula, stepping into Maryam’s way. She’s looking confused, and is holding a mercury-smeared book in her pink hair.

“Out of my way, stay here, don’t follow me,” Maryam snaps.

“Of course Aunty,” Oula says without thinking. 

And with that said Maryam goes up onto deck, and vaults over the side. She seems to know that she can run on water when she runs. The western sky is still bloody from the setting sun.

“Keep away, Father Sun,” Maryam whispers, spitting with a disgusting hack. “Torture me no more. Don’t burn me.” Muttering, she runs off.

Keris is in the backseat of her mind all this time. Distinctly she hears a sob. It sounds like Dulmea.

‘Dulmea?’ she... thinks? As loudly as possible.

... no response. Hmm. Oh, maybe if...

A moment’s experimentation reveals that either Keris doesn’t currently _have_ a voice to swallow, or her mother is using her own voice through Keris’s mouth and Keris’s counts as already having been swallowed. Either way, her Ekoese is working, and while there’s no point in miming it’s easy enough to use her bounce-words-off-the-Cloud-Wall trick without the bouncing part that makes them reflect outward to people around her.

‘Dulmea?’ she tries again. ‘Can you hear me? Is that you?’

“Yes, I can!” Dulmea snaps. “And… I…” Her voice is thick with tears. “Why do you do this to yourself? Why do you let her impose on you like this? This won’t make things any better! This won’t help you - and it won’t even help her.” Dulmea chokes up. “There are demons like her, child. There are demons consumed with rage and spite, who live only to hurt and pretend otherwise only when it furthers their goals. She… you are helping her! You are! Much more than I would like. But then she guilts you into letting her take your flesh and goes out to kill and kill!

“Child, you… you wanted me to be your mother. And I didn’t want it at first but… but things worked out well enough. But she takes and takes and she just wants blood. Blood and crushed necks. And I fear in the end some of those necks will be ones you care about - and I fear once she is gone, you will hate yourself for what you’ve done.”

‘She’s not...’ Keris defends half-heartedly. ‘That isn’t... it’s not like that. I can’t refuse her on this! She _hurts!_ She hurts so badly! I can’t deny her relief from the noose! I _can’t_. And she’s only killing slavers, they don’t matter, they _deserve_ it! They’re the ones who did this to her!’

Her body moves according to another’s will. Keris can’t bring her arms around to hug herself, or look down tearfully, or shiver. But she wants to.

‘It’ll all work out,’ she thinks, putting as much belief as she can into the quavering words. ‘You’ll see. She’s angry now because she’s unavenged, because she hurts so much. Once she’s got revenge - once she’s settled the debt. Then she’ll be free. She can... she can say goodbye without the weight of the noose, and move on. Properly. Like it should be.’

Keris watches through her suborned eyes as Maryam swerves onto the bank of the river, towards a road.

‘It’ll all work out,’ she repeats in a mental whisper, and forces herself to believe it. ‘You’ll see.’

“You’re making excuses for her,” Dulmea says, through clenched teeth. “You wouldn’t let anyone else treat you like this. She strangles you, she hurts you, she’s snatched your body and used it. Why can’t you see, Keris? I’m scared for you! There’s a bottomless ocean in your thoughts where you lose yourself, and she’s using that! What would it take for you to stand up to her? What would she have to do?”

“I... she didn’t... I’m _letting_ her use my body, so it’s not like she’s...”

Keris’s protestations falter, then reform around the only point she’s solid on. “She’s my _mother_. She wouldn’t hurt me. I won’t hurt her. Family... family doesn’t hurt family. She’s angry, yes, and she’s... she might be a danger to others. But she won’t hurt _me_. And if she gets too impatient and tries to hurt innocents, I’ll take back control then. Okay?”

“No,” Dulmea says softly. “I don’t think it will be fine, child. But I don’t think I can persuade you. Just please, think what is best for all of us, not just for her.”

(( OK, roll me 8d10 for Maryam’s hunt))  
((5 sux. Not quite as amazing as last time, but still pretty damn high by mortal standards.))

Maryam hunts like an animal, sometimes falling to all fours, and Keris feels the wrenching of her arms and legs. Maryam doesn’t seem to feel Keris’ pain and so - Keris shivers - it’s not her fault, of course, but it hurts.

It’s snowing and Maryam isn’t going as fast as she could. The snow is getting heavier. At first Keris hopes she might turn back and from her muttering she nearly does, but then she finds a road.

And more than that, Keris can hear something behind her. Light feet, and fast moving.

She suspects it’s Ney.

Inwardly, Keris frowns. Out here, there’s nothing stopping her mother from turning back on the man, and while she agreed to let him be if Keris let her hunt... well, Keris would have expected her to at least snap at him.

... unless... she can’t hear him? That makes no sense, though! They’re using the same ears! But... maybe it does. After all, they’re using the same hair, too, and Maryam can’t use that. So maybe she really doesn’t know.

Keris’s kneejerk reaction is to speak up; pull enough control of her mouth away to warn her mama of their company. But Dulmea’s words are still hanging, and she forces herself to stop. Consider. Balance things.

Is it really necessary to tell Maryam about Ney? She’s only going to be hunting slavers - or should be - and Ney doesn’t like them any more than Keris does. If she goes after someone else... well, then Keris will be taking back control, and Ney will see that. And... and actually, really, if she tells mama now, she probably _will_ turn back and maybe do something ill-advised. And while Keris could probably take Ney in a straight fight - if he _stayed still_ for it instead of hopping around everywhere, grr - Maryam can’t use her body properly. She’s likely not much more dangerous than a powerful First Circle made for war.

So if Keris did tell her, and she did go for Ney, she’d get hurt.

Which means that, for her mama’s own good and also the wellbeing of any innocents she might happen across, Keris should keep quiet.

Keris mulls that conclusion over for a moment, and no sickening lurch of overwhelming guilt appears to scream at her for being a horrible daughter. She concentrates and _feels_ backward, along the limbs her mother is letting hang limp but which are just as present and real as the flesh ones.

A lock of hair flicks and curls, then freezes for a moment before vanishing into the rest of the trailing hair. It could be mistaken for an errant breeze tugging at the strands - but a swift-footed, keen-eyed watcher would see past that surface resemblance and note the message within; an invitation to follow combined with a caution to stay out of sight, as well as a reassurance that Keris is present, just immobile.

Hopefully, Ekoese is not beyond Ney’s skill to decipher. Of all the times he could pick to be annoyingly useless, this would be a really bad one.

((Stealthy Ekoese message sent, hopefully without Maryam even noticing since it’s with limbs she can’t feel.))

Now Maryam is on the road she seems to speed up, pushing Keris’ body as she dashes through snow-choked forests. There’s lights ahead - a waystation, Keris realises, as Maryam gets closer. It’s a solidly built caravansi with a tall three-story structure surrounding a central coaching yard. The tall walls keep the snow away from the stopped coaches, but it was clearly built with an eye to defence. Bandit problems, or is it some kind of hidden fortification.

Maryam doesn’t seem to care as she strides up to the structure, and pauses at the threshold, pushing the door open gingerly. “Are you open?” she calls out, voice hoarse.

“Of course, get in! You’re letting the heat out!” a woman inside hollers.

Keris feels her mother’s lips twist too wide as she steps through.

There’s a woman, really barely more than a girl at the door, headscarf a jaunty green. She sketches the five-star pentacle on her chest in surprise as the red-haired woman walks in. “Are you cold, lady? Your clothes are torn and you look blue with cold.”

“Chased by bandits,” Maryam says. “Ran for it.” She coughs, so many words unsettling her throat.

“Come on, come on, get before the fire… are they close?”

“No, I… lost them. I think. Couldn’t see through the snow.”

“Come on, come on, you look awful!”

Maryam is guided before the fire, but she doesn’t put her hands close to it. She just huddles back in the clothes she tore in Keris’ body. Keris watches and listens as her body curls up and stays still. Maryam seems to be observing the people here, and Keris’s better senses let her do it more effectively; hearing chatter from all around the waystation at once. She tries to keep an ear on Ney, too, but... urgh, yes, he’s vanished again. That fucker. So annoying.

So in the absence of tracking their tracker, Keris tries to figure out what her mother is doing. Planning to attack this place? The people here are innocent... but no doubt they see a lot of caravans passing through. She might be looking for targets who aren’t.

After twenty minutes or so, despite her better senses, Keris still isn’t sure what her mother is up to. She’s sitting there, clearly trying to look pitiful. She takes the food offered, but when not being watched she tosses it in the fire. Keris’ stomach rumbles at that sight. And when people come to talk to her, she seems to be judging them up and quickly decides whether they’re worth talking to or not. 

She can’t help but notice everyone she considers worth talking to is male, and dressed better than most. Which doesn’t narrow this down, of course, because it seems this is somewhere where the relatively well-off stop. She isn’t sure where poorer people go. Maybe they go sleep in the coaching stables with their carts.

And then Maryam starts flirting with one chosen person - though she tries to talk as little as possible and thus is a lot more, uh, overt with her body language than Keris would like.

The whole experience is _excruciating_.

Keris’s inner whimpers - already started by the discarded food, and raised in volume and frequency by the flirting - are a background chorus to the whole affair, and rather distract her from following the conversation or spending any more time working out what Maryam is doing. She’s not sure, but she thinks her involuntary hair-twitches might have telegraphed her state of distress to Ney, if he’s still watching, along with a desperate plea for any possible interruption to make the mortification stop.

Things progress. Even if Maryam doesn’t know half the tricks her daughter does, Keris’ body is more than attractive enough that she winds up trailing the man back to his room.

He grabs her by the face, and locks lips. Maryam reaches up, and her hands find his face.

Then his neck.

Then she starts squeezing. And the body she’s wearing is one with muscles like corded steel.

Shit! Keris’s mind leaps into frantic whirling motion, trying to pick out what made her mother choose this man specifically. Did she see something Keris missed; some hint that he deserves this? Or is she just too frustrated and angry to care? There’s not much time - she knows how strong her grip is - but much as she wants to trust her mother, she has to make sure. She thinks and thinks as the man’s eyes bulge and his face turns red, but she can’t think of anything bad this man in particular has done. Only… dress better than most of the others, and be willing to take a woman back to his room after a short chat.

And she remembers some of her mother’s mutterings, about how this whole place is sick and everyone benefits from slavery. If she had to guess, Keris thinks her mother is of the opinion that anyone rich in Malra deserves to die since they all benefit from the wealth the slave-fuelled silver mines make.

((Compassion and Pay Each Man Back In Kind vs I Love My Family (Mama) and Loyalty To Mama. MBD in effect to stop her betraying Calesco, as well as Maryam - conflicting compulsions.))

She’s going to kill him.

Maryam is going to kill this man, she _wants_ to kill him, but he hasn’t _done_ anything to her - he’s not a slaver like the last lot, he doesn’t obviously deserve it, and Calesco would be so angry, and Ney is watching, and... and... and if she doesn’t get to kill him, what will she do? She’ll be hurt! She needs this! Keris can’t take that away from her... but she can’t let Calesco down either, and Ney will act soon and and and...

Keris panics, her mind shutting down as the conflicting drives threaten to rip it in two. Her body, which is rather more pragmatic about threats, jerks its hands away from the man’s throat just as he slips into unconsciousness and launches itself backwards across the room with enough force to crash into a wall in an untidy heap.

“Nngh- you... slavers, not... other targets!” her mouth babbles unhelpfully. Her hair knots itself around the bedposts and windowframe in agitation while Keris continues her breakdown. Her head is pounding, a feeling like an icepick driven through her temples, and she’s pretty sure it’s not just mental. Her body doesn’t like what Maryam just tried to do. At all.

Maryam lets out a frustrated scream - something hoarse, choking and bubbling. Keris feels her muscles strain. No, that’s not it.

Keris feels her _blood_ strain. Trying to force itself to move against flesh that doesn’t want to move. And worse - and she hopes it’s just her imagination - she thinks that not all of her blood is moving like that. 

It _hurts_ to have her blood moving in different directions. It hurts to feel her muscles tear as they fight against one another.

“This is my blood!” Maryam gasps through Keris’ mouth. “I need this! Stop fighting me! Don’t you love me?!”

“I do!” Keris whimpers, feeling her face twist as her sobs are interspersed with her mother’s snarls. “I do, I do, I love you, that’s _why!_ Slavers are okay, they’re good to kill, but he’s not and we’ll get _caught_ and you’ll get _hurt!_ ”

Any further argument is interrupted, when the shutters smash open and in comes a masked figure. “All right,” Ney says, “that’s enough of that. Kiss, I was going to see what would happen, but the point at which you were talking to yourself like a crazy person while your tendons started snapping… well, I probably oughta step in.” He clears his throat. “So, I might not know much about ghosts, but I’m pretty sure I can stop this one from hurting you. And I don’t care that it’s your mother, Kiss. Proper ghosts let their children seek their revenge, not compel it from them. And they certainly don’t force a mother to abandon her own children.

“So are you going to go back to sleep, or am I going to have to step in?”

Keris can feel her mother straining, her body pulling as she tries to go for the man who defiled her daughter, this prince of the sun who turned her blood against her. The fact that her hair is still knotted around the bed and the windowframe aborts her lunge, and her clawing, jerking arm doesn’t get anywhere near its target.

“Mama,” Keris forces out in a whine, “I’ll... sacrifice to you... cattle blood, prayer-songs... the istandar... I promise. Just please... please let this go. Please...”

“I gave you your chance,” he says, and there’s none of the playfulness or the self-mockery in his voice. His word is law. “Leave. Her. Alone.”

And Ney erupts in a corona of sunfire. His soul erupts from him in a great plume that nearly fills the room. It’s not the famous gold of the Solars - no, it’s a deep, almost midnight blue shot through with thin wavy lines that hint at the oncoming dawn. His forehead burns so bright it’s like staring at the midday sun, though, a ring that’s almost blinding.

And behind him unfolds a great jackal, a beast of blues and greys with burning golden eyes that stare through Keris - ever watchful, ever wary, seeing everything that is and can be.

Everything made of wood in this small room is bleached. Every fabric loses its colour, fading in the sun. 

Maryam screams, and Keris feels for a moment her blood press against her body, trying to escape the terrible light. But the brightness tears her grasp away and she is ripped loose with an ethereal scream, voice receding into the distance as she’s banished from this anchor.

She’s gone. Keris is freed - falling to her knees, smoking, her own flesh burning in the heat of ten midday suns.

But Keris’ hearing is not human. And she hears the howl in the far distance, the howl that is not human and is not hyena and is not cattle and is not lioness, but is something of all of them.

“Shi-” she slurs, struggling to get to her feet. But her hair is still snarled and her muscles and tendons are torn and her skin is reddened and burnt by the sunlight and it _hurts it hurts it hurts_. “Ship! Get back to the ship! The yidak!” She yanks at her hair - once, twice, and the bed and windowframe splinter as she tears free. Struggling to her feet, she gasps in pain, flinching away from the burning ring on Ney’s head and the great watchful jackal.

“Go!” she shouts, flailing at him. “I’ll catch up, go!”

Forcing herself out of the window as Ney flickers and vanishes, she calls on her soul to light her forehead and - stumbling, cursing - starts to run. This, at least, she can do. Her torn muscles and tendons don’t impede her, the pain and burns don’t tax her footing. As long as she’s running, she’s fine.

Another howl. Furious. Deadly. Called to its other half; the hun to its po, the ghost now interred in the bowels of her barge.

The barge her children are on.

Black lightning crackles around Keris’s feet, and the forest road lights up with a blast of red and silver as she runs.

((Keris is going through caste-mark to bonfire-level anima as she starts running and then activates Racing Vitaris. Which also helpfully means she’ll start regenerating from the damage Maryam did. Her priority is forcing the yidak away from the ship if it tries to go for it, rather than harming or trapping it. And given how exhausted she is, the five hours of strenuous activity this counts as will probably knock her out once she’s finished, or at the very least functionally incapacitate her.))

Keris’ heart leads her where she needs to go. Trailing light, she finds herself back at the boat after only a few ground-eating minutes of running.

Only the howling isn’t any closer. Keris skips across the water, sprints down into the hold…

… and her mother’s ghost isn’t there. It’s missing.

And even as she watches, the bones are crumbling. Crumbling to dust.

“ _No!_ ”

Keris screams, scrabbling for the bones, desperately clutching at them even as they dissolve in her hands. She tries to listen, to hear the essence-song and figure out how to stop them, but her soul is still flaring and her head hurts _so much_ and she can’t, she can’t, she can only watch as they disintegrate and was it Ney did he do this did his sunlight kill her mama if he did she’ll kill him _she’ll kill him_ or was it her was it her fault did she make this happen was it her being a bad daughter was it because she refused to let her mama out because she resisted because she _betrayed her_ where is she where’s her mama gone she can’t be gone she _can’t_ be gone _she can’t be gone..._

She’s still curled over the empty coffin and screaming when they find her.

“What on earth-” begins Calesco, but she falls silent as her brother’s hand brushes hers.

There’s a cool hug that wraps around her, hair and all. It smells of the sea - no, of the Sea. “Mama,” Rathan says, his radiant expression washing over her. “What happened? You can trust us, right? We love you. We’ll always be here to support you. Don’t cry, mama. Calesco, go fetch the babies if Mama wants to make sure they’re oka… wait, no, that’s not a good idea until her soul goes down. But if you want it, Calesco can hold them so you can make sure they’re all right?”

((Rathan gets 6 successes on his “don’t blame me” aura a la CME.))

It stops her screaming, at least. But Keris’s attention remains on the coffin.

“She’s gone,” she whimpers, hyperventilating as she draws in air to speak and recover from the shrieking. “She’s gone, she’s _gone_ , I don’t... I don’t know what to do, the sunlight hit her and she... and her bones...”

She’s trembling, her hair knotting and clinging to everything within reach. “Kali, Ogin,” she whispers. “Yes. Where... where are they? And, and everyone... Ney, where’s...”

Calesco goes running, and returns with a pair of not-exactly happy babies in arm and hair. She holds them well away from Keris’ burning soul. “They’re fine, mama,” Calesco says firmly. “I’m not going to let you hold them while you’re still on fire because it’ll hurt them, but they’re fine. Everyone is fine. You ran out of here, and handed the babies over to the girls.”

Kali shrieks, and Keris whirls on her. But no, it’s a shriek of laughter. Calesco has to hold her back as she tries to reach out to touch the bright glowing mama with her chubby hands. Ogin seems to just be happy to cling to Calesco, one thumb in his mouth. He’s smiling at the sight of mama, though.

“There’s no sign of Ney, yet,” Rathan says. “He vanished off chasing after you. He looked very worried after what’s-her-name said what you looked like and what you were doing.”

“He was there...” Keris murmured. “He drove mama off. Hurt her. With sunlight. And then we heard the yidak...”

She bolts upright, eyes going wide. “The yidak! Did she- where is she? Mama might have... she might still be...”

“We’re your family, Mama,” Rathan says, voice softly washing over her. His light reminds her that she can always trust him, that he’s part of her and he’s always there for. “You can tell us what happened. Slowly and from the start. And Calesco can guard the door and make sure that no one who isn’t one of us gets in. Not even Ney. How about that? Take a deep breath. In and out, like the waves rising and falling. Breathe, mama, breathe, and tell me what happened so we can help you. Because we love you.”

((Per + Pres - 10 successes to get Keris to tell him fully what happened truthfully and that they’re family so she can be open.))

Keris swallows shakily. Breathes for a moment. They love her. Yes. Yes, her babies love her, and she loves them, and they’re all family and nobody who isn’t family is here. She can trust them. They’ll understand.

“Ma-mama’s been angry,” she says softly. “Um. Angrier than you’ve seen, I mean. She... she was angry at how slow we were moving, and how she never stopped feeling the rope around her neck, and she didn’t like that I didn’t kill Ney. She never stopped not-liking it, a-and when Xasan told her in his prayers that we’d... um... well, she got... she got very angry. She... she appeared over my bed...”

Slowly, in fits and starts, the story comes out. How Maryam had said... things - things she didn’t _really_ mean, just in the heat of her need and her fury - and she’d sort of... not _forcibly taken_ Keris’s body, but done something that was almost like forcibly taking over Keris’s body except in a way that didn’t sound as bad and was really understandable when you knew why it had happened. And then killed a band of slavers - which was good, because they were slavers and they didn’t have any innocents among them and they were probably going out to ruin some poor village that didn’t deserve it! And then this night just gone, when she’d been furious at Ney coming onboard and Keris had offered her flesh as a steed again...

By the end of things, Keris’ soul has died down to just the burning brand on her forehead. Calesco hasn’t said a word ever since she started talking, and she carefully - and silently - passes Kali and Ogin to Keris. Kali happily clings onto Keris’ hair like a tiny monkey, while Ogin pats her face with tiny chubby hands. 

She then leaves the room.

“They’re hungry,” Rathan says. “Don’t mind Cally - she’s just angry because she’s had them crying at her. She tried feeding them a bit of the grapes we had left open, and Ogin liked them but Kali was sick on her.” He patters on with domestic chatter, even as Keris hears wings unfold overhead. “Oh, by the way, she said she was going looking for Ney, since he’s not back yet,” he adds casually in among other things. “Said in the way that she and Eko can say things - it’s awfully convenient, you know, it’s something I sort of wish I could do too.” He offers a strand of his hair for Ogin to play with.

“So, Cally and me talked a bit and we decided that of course we’re going to help you get revenge for grandma and find grandpa. Because we love you and it’s important to you. But I’ve been talking to great-uncle Xasan while we’ve been fishing - him and Ney - and I’ve been trying to learn as much about Harbourhead culture as I can. I sort of wish Zanara was outside…”

“Too true,” Zanara mutters in her head.

“... I’m sure he’d be great at this. Because I reckon the best way to make sure we do this right is make sure we do it properly, yes? That’ll be okay? But you look exhausted, mama, so I think you probably need to feed the babies and nap yourself because they’re tired and now also very excited from seeing you on fire,” Ogin tries to stick a finger up Keris’ nose, “and I don’t think we need any more excitement tonight, do we?” His words are a hypnotic lullaby.

((Per + Pres, 13 successes to lull Keris into looking after the babies and going to sleep.))  
((Keris accepts the influence, but is panicky enough to try and avert any anger just in case - partly, lol, because she kind of expected a bit and isn’t seeing any.))

“Don’t... don’t be angry at her, okay?” Keris says nervously, cuddling the twins and fumbling to undo her top. “She’s not... it’s complicated, and I know Calesco gets all... just make sure she doesn’t do anything rash? She didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s not her fault. A-and make sure Ney doesn’t hurt her either! He already did, with the sunlight...” she scowls, then winces and looks conflicted. “Just... don’t go after her or anything,” she finishes awkwardly.

“Who’s angry, mama?” Rathan asks soothingly. “I’m not going to leave you. I’m going to be here for you, when you wake up. You clearly haven’t been sleeping properly if you’ve been up all night doing this kind of thing.” He lets go slightly, but reaches out and pats her cheek. “Mama, just think - Rounen will be hatching soon, if you’re right about Haneyl’s silly obsession with sevens holding true. Meanwhile, if you’re scared of the yidak coming back, I’ll be sure to keep the boat away from shore and in fresh-flowing water. That should scare it off, yes?”

He turns his back. “Now, I’ll let you feed the babies in peace and quiet, while I make sure that the boat is somewhere where you don’t have to worry about big scary dead monsters coming back. If Calesco does find Ney, do you want to see him?”

“I... yes. No. Maybe?” Keris wavers. “No, yes. Yes, I’ll sleep and then go visit Rounen. Send him to me when he’s here.”

She settles the twins on the bed, and hugs her son gratefully. “You’re so good to me,” she murmurs happily. “I knew bringing you along was a great idea. You’ve been really responsible and helpful. Thank you.”

Kissing him on the forehead, Keris curls up under the covers with Kali and Ogin cradled against her chest, and tries to get some proper sleep.

That night, Keris dreams a strange dream. Or, rather, a strange dream forces itself upon her. She’s in the City at first, heading to Dulmea’s, but then there’s a pain in her heart and she opens her eyes into another dream.

The world around her is made of shades of blackness, with only flecks of white and red in the sky overhead breaking up the monotony. Despite everything, it feels soft and very gentle in here. The edges of the buildings are rounded and nothing has any sharp edges. 

Above her, there is the fluttering of wings. Calesco hangs above her, all eight wings outspread until they take up the sky. She’s wearing the red-sashed formal dress she wore to her birthday party. The whole world feels like it’s happier in the sight of her gentle smile that tells Keris that her daughter really does feel hopeful.

((Keris discerns Calesco’s Principle of Keris (Guarded Optimism)))

“Mother,” Calesco says. “I’ve found Ney. I won’t be coming back, not for a bit. He’s got a message from one of his scouts that needs his immediate attention, and I’ve demanded to come along with him to make sure he stays honest. And also, yes, because I want to see what he does when he works. I want to make sure he’s suitable for you.” She pauses, and pulls one of his masks from her dress, putting it on. “Don’t worry, I’ll be in disguise so the locals won’t know who I am. I’ll send you a message if it looks like it’s going to be more than a couple of days. Remember to keep an eye on Rounen - I won’t be around for the next few days so you’ll need to pay close attention to him. Goodbye!”

And with that, the shadow-dream departs and Keris surfaces, gasping, from one of the tarry-ponds in the Meadows.

Breathing shakily - and shaking the tar off herself - Keris takes stock. A few mezkeruby who were napping around the edges of the pond cluster near her to see if she’s alright, and soothing them helps settle her nerves a little. Once her head is back on straight, she takes a shuddery breath and decides that right now, what she really needs is some sympathy and hugs. Mama isn’t _gone_ gone; she can’t be, she’s just... left. Or... been forced away, maybe, by Ney, and that’s confusing and conflicting and...

... yeah, she needs to get all of this off her chest and talk to someone. Dulmea will know what to do. Pulling herself to her feet, Keris sets her course for the City.

She finds Dulmea - well, _a_ Dulmea - in the new Library, overhearing her voice as she passes. She's set up in one of the reading rooms when Keris finds her, pacing back and forth in front of the window. Skidding up to her, Keris throws herself into a hug and clings for a moment. “Can we talk?” she asks plaintively. “I need some advice, or just someone to listen so I can work things out.”

Dulmea has tea, little cakes from the personal sziromkeruby chef she’s acquired (who wears bandages around his head so he can’t hear the music), and gentle music. She also has a Vali, who’s slumped in one of the armchairs next to a map, and Firisutu who’s standing there in a meditative pose.

“I’m sorry, child, we were just handling negotiations about volcanic eruptions and the forewarning Vali needs to give,” Dulmea says. “If you want, they could stay, but if you’d rather be alone I’m sure we can pick the talks up later.”

“They can stay,” says Keris, moving over to hug Vali. “We’re all family. And, um. It’s a family thing. Mama...” she gulps. “Mama left. Sort of.”

“I was… aware of what happened outside,” Dulmea says delicately. “It was very loud.”

Vali shrugs. “If she wanted to leave, she can,” he says. “Family can leave if it wants to. If she wants to come back, she will.”

“Ah, but it is not that simple,” Firistutu says, shaking his stacked heads.

“Uh. Pretty sure it is,” Vali retorts. “Mama doesn’t own grandmama, grandmama doesn’t own mama. If they want to hang around each other they can, but it’s not something that _has_ to happen.”

“I don’t know _why_ , is the thing,” Keris groans, rubbing her eyes and grabbing some cakes with her hair. “I don’t know if she left because she was angry or if she got driven off by Ney’s sunlight or if it actually hurt her and her bones dissolving was because of that... and Ney! Ney might... I thought Rathan and Calesco might want to f-fight her, and that-” she flinches reflexively, just at the idea. “And they didn’t, but Ney _might_.” She shivers, hugging herself. “I don’t want to fight Ney to protect mama. I don’t want to fight mama to protect Ney. And I couldn’t do both and I can’t do _neither_ if it happens...”

Keris sniffs. “I love them all,” she complains. “I love them all, but they want different things, and they might wind up fighting and it _hurts_.” She looks up at Dulmea. “You don’t like her,” she adds in a small voice, half pained and half accusing. “You said I shouldn’t help her. But that means I’m disappointing one of you either way. I don’t _want_ to let _either_ of you down. Why can’t you just agree?”

Dulmea folds her hair together. “This is what happens with demons, child - and from the way Maryam acts, I think she is more akin to a demon in how she thinks than a human. I believe she cannot _not_ seek revenge - and I believe that her concept of revenge is bloody and indiscriminate. But Rathan _cannot_ support such indiscriminate revenge. It goes against his nature. And neither can Calesco, because by her nature she is too compassionate to allow such a thing.

She looks over towards the window. “It is funny, is it not? Both the human souls are on their own more akin to a demon. It is almost as if humans are a symbiosis of two demon-breeds, and their behaviour is… well, what we see with you, where your many souls interacting together allows you to think of things and make choices that none of your souls on their own could manage. Calesco cannot be incompassionate and Rathan cannot be unfair, but you can do both.

“And perhaps that is why it hurts. You are running into your own limits. Perhaps what you are feeling is like the pain of an angyalka stopped from playing.”

Dulmea sips her tea, and looks back towards Keris. “Yes, I previously thought it was best not to help her, but now I feel that the current course of action might be what we are looking for. Might I suggest you continue with Ney towards the capital and there, as agreed, take your revenge for your mother. You will pay them the fruit of the suffering - pleasing Rathan and your mother - while not being too indiscriminate, which will please Calesco and Ney. In some ways, I think your mother not being here will simplify matters. You will be able to enact proper revenge for Maryam - as Ney says, the proper Harbourhead way, no? And your mother is not satisfied with that, then she is a mad demon who will never be happy - and you swore an oath to Calesco that you would ease her passing if she did not rest easily.”

“Yeah!” Vali says firmly. “You gotta keep that promise to Cally!”

“Hmm. An equitable solution. All have something to gain,” Firisutu says thoughtfully. “I believe that would be good.”

Keris blinks a few times, considering this, and nods. “That... that sounds good,” she sighs, slumping down in a chair. “I’ll do that. And tell Rathan and Calesco when I- ah, but Calesco’s off with Ney. And I still don’t have Rounen to carry messages.” She looks crestfallen for a moment, then straightens up and nods firmly. “So I’ll go keep vigil over him again as soon as I wake up. Rathan was right. He didn’t wake up after a day, s-so it has to be after a week. No longer than that.”

“Right,” Vali says. “Now, come on, Mama! I’m bored of this stupid meeting…”

“Wait, we need to talk about-” Dulmea begins.

“... and that’s why I’ve got something really pretty to show you!” Vali says loudly, drowning out Dulmea’s case. “I’ve been teaching myself silversmithing and I’ve been using some of Zanara’s opals and both he and she said they were super pretty! Come on, look look!” He grabs her by the hand, pulling her towards the door.

Keris follows obediently, though Vali is getting strong enough that he’s almost able to tow her regardless to whatever it is he wants to show off. They pass a pair of scrawny alley-kats on the way out; crooning a lullaby to their litter of kittens outside the doors, and mother and son pause to give them a pet. It looks like the librarian-Chords have been feeding them - and given how the kittens all peep up with a chorus of lyrical “pretty lady!”s when Keris gives them some attention; teaching them too. It's not a very coherent chorus, admittedly. Honestly, Keris considers the meter and inability to stay on-pitch of most City-kats to be pretty convincing proof that they're not sapient, despite their songs having lyrics. Parrots can talk too, right? And Keris has heard of far weirder things than animals that somehow sing the right songs for a situation, even if “I'm going to eat you, mousey~” is decidedly weird to hear from a fleabitten stray.

“Come ooon, mama!” Vali insists, tiring of the cute little long-limbed creatures swiftly. Keris relents, and lets herself be dragged away and shown his work. His silver sculpting is very much self-taught - and he treats silver like a human child might clay. Keris winces a bit at the sight of thumb prints in his work. It’s very… brutalist, inelegant, and nothing like the graceful things that Zanara and Haneyl adore. It’s blocky, too, and practically studded with big opals.

Keris smiles at that, at least. Zanara must be getting on well with their big brother to be so generous with their opals.

“You don’t use tools very much, do you?” she asks, brushing her fingers over the finger-moulded metal and the bezels that have obviously been pinched into shape. “You like working with your hands a lot. Do you use your hair often?”

“Well-” Vali starts, and then frowns. Keris follows his line of sight to where the opal-studded silver isn’t anymore. The coil of brass wire that was next to it is gone too. As is the hammer.

“... _Eko_ ,” she groans. “Stop stealing your brother’s things. And come out here right now.”

There’s a stinging feeling on Keris’ shoulder and she turns to see Eko right there. Her hands are of course empty. It’s so cruel, she gestures furiously, that everyone blames her unfairly for doing everything bad. 

Her protests would mean more if there wasn’t a wind-eroded coil of wire and nearly ruined hammer at her feet.

So, hi mama, Eko gestures. Uh. Long time no see, she adds, trying to whistle and failing.

“Yes,” Keris agrees, reaching out to give her daughter a quick, painful hug. “Have you sorted out any more about what your keruby are missing? And... um... how much of what’s been going on outside have you heard?” She glances over at Vali. “I’m never sure how much you all know from day to day, with all the things you have going on in here.”

“I don’t pay attention to much,” Vali says simply. “It’s mostly boring. Except the fights! Or when you’re making stuff! That’s super cool!”

Eko gives a sad smile. She hears pretty much everything. It’s just that she chooses to forget a lot of it, so she has exciting things to hear when mama comes to talk to her. And, uh - and there her ribbons turn red - also because mama is not quiet when she, uh. Is with Ney. In both ways. They’re either being loud, or being - she glances at Vali - louder.

But, she expands, if mama is asking about everything that’s going on, yes, Eko thinks she knows about the whole mess with grandmother Maryam. It’s very sad.

“Do you think she’ll come back?” Keris asks softly. “That she’ll be satisfied with the istandar, when I kill him?” For all that Eko can be... frustrating, she’s well aware of her eldest’s intelligence. It’s worth asking.

Maryam is not like mama-Keris, Eko explains with a sad shake of her head. She can’t leave her troubles behind. She cut the wrong things away when she died and now she’s… Eko pauses, clearly looking for the right words… like a blood lake which stops having a current and gets too close to the Meadows and conceals into tar. Yes, Eko decides, Maryam is like tar. She’s thick, clinging, and won’t move because that’s what Calesco’s tar is. It’s dried blood from Eko and water that has had all its water-ness drunk by Haneyl’s trees. Once she was something flowing and moving but now she can’t flow.

She’ll just sink down and down into the dream below the Meadows. If there’s one like that in the Outside World. Eko isn’t sure about that.

Right, she gestures flippantly, the question, the question. She might come back, Eko decides, picking up Vali’s hammer and playing with it while it dissolves in her hands. Vali snatches it away and she sticks her tongue out at her brother. But, she concludes, with a warning gesture to Keris, she’ll come back for her own reasons, not for the reasons Keris wants her to.

She’s sort of what like fat mama would be like if she didn’t have Eko to cut away Vali’s promises, Calesco’s regrets, and the envy and greed of Haneyl and Rathan, she gestures, patting Keris’ cheek. Eko and the Ruin keep the world moving.

“I guess ‘keep moving’ is all we can do,” Keris sighs, letting the ‘fat’ jibe pass her by. She’s not got the energy to argue it right now. “I hope she does come back, though. I hope... I hope this whole mess ends peacefully. Ends _right_.”

She sighs again. “Even if I’m starting to think it won’t.”

The next day is quiet. Without Calesco on the boat, everything feels off - and Keris realises that she’d got used to having her daughter’s presence around. And without Ney to poke, there isn’t as much fun to be had. Keris has a quiet day, and spends it productively making a new set of clothes for people to wear in the capital. Rathan needs no clothes as such, just some help with his designs - and with Calesco still absent, Keris can only make a judgement call as to what she’ll be wearing. She goes for a set of similar designs, Tairan in origin, with the same patterns woven in different colours throughout the set - not only hers and her children’s, but also Oula’s and Xasan’s and the girls. The embroidery is rich and detailed, the wind-and-wave patterns she likes so much picked out in gold-dyed thread to show that they’re all part of a single group - and not a weak or powerless one.

((Cog+Occult; 4+5+3 Jupiter’s Embroidery+2 stunt+4 Kimmy ExSux because, sigh, Keris cannot resist trying to show up the beauty of Malra out of envy even if she’s meant to and intending to be flying under the radar. 14 dice; 4+4=8 sux.))

Zanara coos happily over the designs, and is even more pleased at how they’ll stand out. “Because you deserve to be the best, mama,” boy-Zanara says smugly. “It’ll be so _pretty_.”

Between that and childcare, the day goes by smoothly. The river is getting more and more packed, and Rathan several times has to shout at people who dare get in his way - usually getting a rapid apology from them. Ogin and Kali even get a turn at steering, though in Ogin’s case it’s really more that he wanted to hang upside down from the tiller while Kali wanted to perch on top of it as a bird.

It’s getting late and the sun is setting when a fast-moving blur dashes across the water and pauses to gently lower Calesco-Kuha off his back. “Hiya, Kiss,” Ney says. “Before you say anything, they’re just tired. They were flying a lot and Calesco says Kuha’s bad at flight over long distances but she promised to stay in the back.” He pauses. “Never had to deal with a demonhost before. Sorry, Kuha let a few things slip.”

Keris tenses for a moment, but shakes it off tiredly. “As long as they’re both alright,” she murmurs. “What happened to- no, actually. We’ll talk somewhere more private. Here, help me get them to bed.”

Once Calesco is carefully tucked in and kissed goodnight, Keris checks the time and sighs. “It’s about time to... urgh, fine. Follow me, and we can talk while I’m sitting vigil. But be respectful, okay?” She makes a quick stop in the galley to collect Rounen’s food for the evening, and then leads the Jackal of Malra down to one of the last remaining secrets on the barge.

... well, probably. Possibly. Assuming he hasn’t already searched the whole boat. Even if he has, though, he won’t have understood what’s in here. Keris kneels down beside the shrivelled body and brushes a feather-soft kiss against its forehead.

“Hello Rounen,” she says quietly. “No story tonight, but you can listen in while I feed you, okay?” Her hair starts easing the fish into his stomach as she looks up at Ney. “Calesco probably told you, but Mama’s bones disappeared when I got here. The yidak?”

Ney scowls - and Keris gets the feeling he’s not just play-acting. “Gone,” he says darkly. “Gone, and left plenty of bodies in its wake. It found a small shadowland in a graveyard and wriggled away. It loves its boltholes; I found that out last time I tried to hunt it. Now it’s down somewhere in the Lands of the Dead, and that’s an unclean place.” He pauses. “And Calesco is scared of ghosts. Did you know that?”

“... no she isn’t,” Keris says, confused. “She likes Kerisa. Well. Pities her. Wants to help her. She certainly isn’t _afraid_ of... oh, you mean the Greater Dead.” She pauses, and feeds Rounen a few more chunks of fish as she considers. “I... I can see why that might be. She hadn’t told me about it, but I’m... not surprised.”

Rubbing a hand across her eyes, Keris groans. “She called it. Mama, I mean. I knew she could do that, but not... we’ve been travelling for _weeks_. I thought we’d left it behind near the tree. It got here so fast - it must have been pacing us; tracking us the whole way. But it can’t have been doing that in Creation, and it... it shouldn’t have been _able_ to do it from the Underworld, right? How would it know where to go?”

Wait a moment. Keris remembers something vaguely - a ghost story she’d heard on the streets from a harlot with a puppet show. She must have been… what, in her early teens? But they’d had all those painted paper puppets and moved them against a silk screen and Keris and Rat’d paid the price of a small beer each to get in to an hour and a bit of horror and spooky stories. Yeah, yeah, it’s all coming back to her now! It’d been after they’d scammed a merchant out of his purse and they’d been flying high! And it’d nearly been Calibration, which was why they were telling all the old ghost stories.

But one of them had been a bloody melodrama about two Dragonblooded princes, who had been the best of friends but they’d fallen out over a handsome young man and one had murdered the other - and three days later, the murdered man had come back from the grave riding his own hungry ghost, a monstrous dragon made of blood and bone, and they’d chased him all over Creation and in the end the little paper puppet of the murderer had been eaten up by the dragon-ghost. The storyteller had said that Dragonblooded literally had dragons living in their blood - hence the name. But knowing what she knows now, she thinks it might have been a story of the ghost who could control or guide their own yidak. Maybe because they were both after revenge.

“I think-” she starts, realising with a horrible lurch how the hyena-thing might have tracked them. But that would mean that mama would have been guiding it along with them the whole time, even when she was happy with Keris, always having an ace card waiting in the wings; a violent and powerful form of backup in case she needed... in case...

... it feels horribly like something Keris would do. If she was all alone on a boat full of people she didn’t quite feel safe with, determined to do something she didn’t trust them to help her with. Yes, in that situation she would _definitely_ keep something hidden up her sleeve or just out of sight, as an escape route and a holdout weapon both.

_If_ she didn’t feel safe. _If_ she didn’t trust her group. _If_ she thought she’d need it.

Choking up a bit, Keris squeezes her eyes shut against tears and feeds Rounen some more. Her hair plays over him, performing the usual checks - water, no, still dry. Fire, no, still cold. Life, no, his petals are shrivelled and dead. Essence, yes, still there. The one fraction of it that’s been growing is almost completely dominant now; drowning out the other two to the point that they’re barely identifiable.

“I... think we’ll see them again,” she says, picking her sentence back up and changing where she was going with it. “Probably when we reach the istandar. Mama’s blood is in me, she can control it at least a little. I bet she can find it if she needs to. She’ll use us - use me - to show her where she needs to go for her revenge. But she doesn’t trust you not to burn her again, so she’ll do it from a distance.” A sniff, and a watery attempt at a smile. “It’s easy to guess what she’ll do, now. I just have to think of what I would do.”

“You know, if you were anyone else, I’d question why you’re still doing this,” Ney says. He raises one hand. “La, la, before you snap at me - maybe literally - I said, if you were anyone else. But you’re one of a kind, Kiss.” He shifts his attention to Rounen. “What is this… thing that I am not sure what it is, and what are you doing to it? Is it ill?”

She’s almost not surprised he’s calling Rounen an ‘it’. It’s very hard to tell what he is, especially if you don’t know what a sziromkerub is to start with.

“He’s one of Oula’s cousins,” Keris explains. “A kerub. All my children have a breed their own. Oula was one of Rathan’s, but she matured in Terema. She _was_ a child. She encased herself in a pearl and changed, over a night and a day, into what she is now. Rounen... about a week ago, he shrivelled up like this and his fire went out. I think - I hope - he’s maturing like she did.” She looks down at him, eyes distant. “But I waited out the first day and he didn’t emerge. Or the second, or the third... if he doesn’t wake up today, that’s my best hope gone and after that I don’t know when he might come back. I’ve been feeding him and talking to him, in case he’s still aware...”

She quirks a wry grin. “He’s my scribe, see. My assistant. His kind love stories, so he takes notes for me. And transcribes conversations, and writes out records... that sort of thing. And he cooks, too.” She sighs, talking to the still and silent body. “It’s been a week, and I miss you. Come on, Rou. I need my aide. If you don’t wake up today, I’ll have to tell Haneyl in my next Messenger and she’ll get angry at you. Neither of us want that, right?”

Keris doesn’t want to believe that this is what did it. She really, really doesn’t want to believe that that, of all things, is what did it.

And yet…

There’s a faint crackling noise from the corpse-like dried body in front of her. It sounds like rustling paper and unfolding scrolls. Keris draws back, eyes wide as Rounen takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. And deflates. Her heart sinks.

But the crackling continues, and now he’s splitting down the centre. Paper unfolds and his wasted, dried body swells up, like origami done in reverse. It’s like his body is a paper crane that’s becoming sheets of paper again. Or a chrysalis.

And there’s something wrapped in the paper sheets. Something with human skin and bright turquoise hair, the same colour that Rounen’s petals were before he became faded and wasted and pale. The paper tears as the newborn stretches, tearing its way out of the husk. They’re dripping wet with ink and water, sooty and filthy, and with a great shuddering gasp they take a breath and roll onto all fours.

Then they messily vomit up a mix of ink, paper, and flower petals.

“Rounen!” Keris exclaims, and lunges in to hug him, heedless of the mess. “Blue silence and _stars_ , you scared me half to death! A week! A whole week worrying about you, gods...”

She’s crying a bit from relief and catharsis as she helps him upright and shucks her jacket to give him something to wear - urgh, he’s big enough that she has to commandeer a linen sheet from where it’s drying on a line down here in the warm, too. Why is everyone taller than her, honestly? But that gives him some modesty, and a mostly-dry towel helps clean him up and get the inky afterbirth off him.

“How do you feel?” Keris asks, letting him go only with great reluctance and taking in his new form with a long, appraising look. Oula changed considerably from wave charmer to moon wife; losing her sense of justice and much of her knack for combat in favour of beauty and architecture. Rounen will no doubt have undergone similar shifts in skill.

Rounen sits down heavily, legs and arms still obviously weak. He works them. They’re thin, graceful limbs, with long fingers and toes - not quite as long as Keris’, but still unusually long for a human’s. Now that the residue has been mostly cleaned off, she can see he has a golden skin tone - paler than a Tengese, but with some in common. In fact, as she peers at his features and his bright green eyes - just like his old flames - she gets the feeling he looks a lot like a Tengese bastard of some Realm Dynast.

A seeming that is only aided by the little embers that glow in his hair, and the flowers that blossom from strands of hair.

That’s it, she realises. He looks like a… a fake Dynast! He has Haneyl’s elements serving as fake aspect markers, and he looks like he has Realm blood. In fact, Keris thinks, he’s really quite handsome… no, argh, focus!

He opens his mouth, clearly getting used to having a human-like mouth. His teeth are very white and clean, although Keris can see their razor-sharp edge. He seems confused by his tongue, and he wets his lips, trying several times to make sounds. “I… I do feel strange, ma’am,” he eventually says - and there’s even a hint of Realm accent to the way he talks now. “That was most unpleasant. I don’t believe I ever want to do that again. That hurt more than perhaps it would be polite to say in the company of strangers.”

Keris slants a sideways glance at Ney. “He certainly is strange,” she murmurs, but the bubbling happiness at Rounen’s recovery prevents it from having any real bite. “ _Gods_ , it’s good to have you back. There’s a lot to fill you in on...” her face falls for a moment, but she shakes her head and recovers. “And a lot to get done, too.”

His speech patterns have changed, she notes, as has his body language. The exuberance of childhood is gone, and what’s taken its place is more... controlled. Formal. Notably Sasi-like, actually. Thinking back to the trio of noble sziromkeruby it Haneyl’s castle, Keris considers how Saji’s fire was dominating while Elly was leaning more towards the hungry plants of the Swamp, and rebalances them in the light of Rounen. This would make him... the facet of Haneyl’s nature she inherited from Sasi, then? The humanity? Well, that would explain his looks.

She glances at Ney again, a more assessing look this time as he takes in the newborn - or reborn - kerub in front of him.

((Reaction+Politics to judge his reaction; 5+1+2 Coadj+2 stunt+3 Kimmy ExSux {discerning eye, secrets}=10. 6+3=9 sux.))

Ney is sitting back, an affable smile on his lips. But his metaphorical mask - he’s not wearing his literal one - is a little thinner than usual. Keris can see the cold, evaluating glimpse into his eyes. He’s fascinated by how on earth a fully grown man came out of a shrivelled up corpse - and Keris thinks he’s also a bit worried about how human Rounen looks.

Rounen for his part, is still clearly thinking. “Hmm. If I might say so, ma’am, I could do with a meal. I don’t believe I’ve eaten in a while. Although given I think it must have been several days, I don’t feel as hungry as I should. And,” he considers, “I feel colder. Has something happened to my fire?”

“I’ve been feeding you,” Keris says absently. “Looks like that was a good idea. Come on up to the galley and we’ll get you some food and re-introduce you to everyone. Oula will be happy to have another adult kerub around. And, hmm...” She examines his essence-flavour; her eyes glinting green. “Yeah. Your fires and hunger have been banked. I think you sziromkeruby must choose one of Haneyl’s three natures when you grow up. We’ll have to wait for the other two to mature properly before we know for sure, though.” Making a face, Keris thinks back on the past week. “Hopefully it’s less stressful than this was,” she mutters.

((Enlightenment 3; Haneylian essence {humanity/neuroses aspect}.))

Rounen’s eyes widen. “Something _has_ happened to my fire? Oh no. Oh dear. Ma’am, I don’t think I can catch you rabbits and other game. Or even light fires for you! This is awful!”

“Ah ah ah!” Keris interrupts, holding up a finger. “You might not be able to spit fire anymore, but I bet you can use a shortbow, if catching rabbits comes up. You might have to switch tools, but you’re still _my aide_ , and I’m keeping you. And if Oula is anything to go by, you’ll have new skills. Valuable ones.” She hums thoughtfully. “How do you feel about writing and stories? Do you still have your scribe magic?”

Rounen frowns. He dips his finger in some of the messy goo from his rebirth, and quickly scrawls out a page’s worth of text with a few easy gestures. He visibly relaxes. “Oh, that seems to all be there, ma’am. What a relief. I’m still of use to you and won’t have to go back to the Swamp. Now, ah, might I prevail on you for some clothes? I’m awfully sorry, but I appear to have got your jacket messy.”

Keris nods. “I should have thought of that. Let me just take your measurements and I can whip you up something.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I should probably wear something that indicates I’m in your service, too.” He pauses. “And nothing seems to be wrong with my heart, thank goodness. You don’t need to tell her that, but I don’t believe I’d like to open my chest like Oula does. It seems… uncomfortable.”

Ney chuckles. “Hey, Kiss, why don’t you learn from him? Your little demon aide seems to have better manners than you do.”

Rounen stiffens up, a hiss escaping between his suddenly thin lips. Keris realises that, no, his teeth are much sharper and more numerous than she thought. He has two rows, and somehow she didn’t notice that before. His eyes are slitted; the embers in his hair flair. “What did you call me?” he demands, in a reptilian hiss.

“Aide? It means assistant, ol-”

“Not that. The _other_ word.”

“Demon?” Ney looks confused. There’s a good chance he’s putting it on. “But you are a demon.”

“Shut up!” Rounen yells, straightening up - and incidentally losing his clothes in the violence of the movement. 

“Hold it hold it hold it!” Keris snaps, getting between them. “Rounen, calm down, and Ney, _keep your mouth shut_. Did you actively _train_ for angering people or something? It wasn’t three days ago that _I_ was trying to pummel you; now you’re working on my scribe?”

Inside, her mind is racing. Rounen fell to sleep just after... argh, just after reading all those horrible stories about demons from Malek’s library. And saying that he didn’t want to be one. And now he’s reacting badly to being called one, and getting more draconic in a Haneylish sort of way - which is not a good thing, given what Haneyl’s dragon form is like...

This is probably his version of Oula’s thing with her heart, Keris decides with a groan. Or... or how angyalkae can’t stop playing, or how her mama needs revenge. The inherent madness of de- of spirits.

“Are we calm?” she demands. “Right. Then- Ney, mouth, shut!” She glares at him, daring him to continue with whatever he was about to say, and continues before he can. “Then we don’t say... that accusation which Rounen does not like, especially since he’s just been reborn and hasn’t got to grips with his new instincts yet. Spirits are a little crazy after they’re born or when they grow and change, until they settle into their new state. My children all were. _I_ was. So we’re going to go get food, and _not say anything provoking_ , and let Rounen get his composure back. And also work out what he can do now. Understood?”

“Mmm hmm mmm pmmm,” Ney says, mouth closed.

Rounen takes a deep breath. He doesn’t change, but Keris is finding it increasingly hard to notice his reptilian eyes or predatory teeth. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, then grasps for clothing. “Uh, I do believe the clothing is quite important too. Especially if it’s as cold outside as it was around Lady Malek’s place.”

“... yes,” she agrees. “Okay, let’s get you dressed first.”

There are some spare clothes for Xasan that Keris is able to take in and adjust and reweave to fit Rounen - he’ll need proper ones made up that are tailored to him and his colouring, but these will do for now as far as keeping him warm and covered goes. Then it’s up to the galley, where there’s a good amount of leftovers to scavenge, and up onto the deck where they can start experimenting.

Writing is the obvious starting point, and Keris can already tell he’s gotten even faster there. From there they go through the spearwork he learned with Kuha and Oula, as well as a range of other guesses. Even Ney chips in an idea or two; apparently as keen to learn what Rounen’s new limits and abilities are as Keris is.

((Rolled - wait, heh. Does Ney count as an infuriating assistant, or an irritating penalty? : P))  
((Roll Temperance.))  
((... oh dear. Um. Uh. Yeah. Botch.))  
((Yeah, Ney is an annoying -4 penalty due to that botch.))  
((Reaction+Occult; 5+5+2 Coadj+2 stunt-4 penalty from NEY BEING AN ANNOYING ASS=8. 4 sux. GODDAMMIT NEY YOU COST ME LITERALLY FOUR SUCCESSES.))

After a while, Keris feels she has a pretty good handle on what Rounen can do. And she would have a _better_ one if Ney wasn’t an annoying pain in everyone’s butts who’s also distractingly handsome in some ways. And keeps on asking questions clearly intended to get extra info about this ‘Swamp’ and this ‘Haneyl’ who Keris hsa made the mistake of mentioning in front of him once or twice.

In the end, she just sends Rathan to distract him so she can take a proper look at Rounen.

Firstly, Rounen can pass as human. Keris sees everything while fitting the clothing for him, and yes, he’s a little unusual - turquoise hair and green eyes aren’t common for Tengese-looking people - but you could drop him in the docks or on Saata and no one would think he’s a spirit. Well, at least if he can avoid moving his prehensile hair. On the _inside_ , though, he’s far less human. He’s denser than a human being, and Keris is fairly sure he’s got a second form that he’s keeping forced down in the same way that someone might tense a muscle. But Rounen denies that he does and says this is just the way he looks.

Secondly, yes, he’s a scribe and a scholar still. An even better one than he was. He can write lines at the same speed that a human - or Keris - can write words, and more than that, he’s just so neat and organised. When let loose on Keris’ notes, it’s done in minutes, like you’d let a whole team at sorting things out. Soon everything is in neatly labelled folders and Rounen has re-written some of Keris’ more sloppy notes.

Thirdly - and this only shows up when Oula takes a look at the _second_ eldest matured kerub (she makes sure to rub that in) - he’s now better at the arts of war than she is. Not combat, no, he has no real talent there - but he corrects her on a note on a battle, raising her hackles. 

But all this has come at a cost, and he seems to have lost most of the other tricks he had a child. No fire spit, no ability to make plants grow, and music… just doesn’t seem that important to him anymore. Oh, he likes it, but nothing more.

“That’s the same,” Oula says, a little spitefully. “He’s just copying me there. Honestly, running around like that is for little children. When you’re an adult, you have to grow up and you can’t just put everything down and spin until you’re sick. I mean,” she blushes, “I’d still dance if Rathan wanted me to, or if the music was beautiful, but it’s a bit…”

“... baby-like,” Rounen completes. “Precisely, yes, that.”

Keris, meanwhile, is gleefully contemplating how much more of her paperwork she can offload onto Rounen now. Sporadic bouts of giggling punctuate her plans, and not even the occasional glare over at where Ney and Rathan are fishing again can spoil her mood.

“Rouneeeeeen,” she crows, interrupting his and Oula’s talk on music to hug him again. “You are officially my aide and in charge of all my paperwork and organising stuff and the detail things; this is _great!_ I can get Sasi to stop nagging at me so much to learn how to do it, hah!”

Keris promptly gets glared at by Rounen and Oula both.

“Aunty,” Oula says firmly. “No! You need to learn how to do these things yourself! It’s important! You won’t always be able to rely on having people like me - or Rounen,” she adds reluctantly, “and this is important.”

“Much as it pains me to say it, ma’am, Oula is quite right,” Rounen agrees. “While I will do what I can to aid you, it is important you know these things yourself. I have to be able to trust you are making the right decisions, and these are things a fine lady such as yourself should know.”

There’s some snickering from over by the fishing poles, but when Keris shoots a lethal glare over, Rathan is fully focused on manipulating the currents to bring more fish into range and Ney appears to be napping. Bereft of a target, she grumbles and pouts.

Ogin crawls over from where he was playing with his sister and pats her on the foot. At least her babies are on her side.

“Well... regardless, you’ll be a great help in doing the stuff I don’t have time for, even if I learn it for the big decisions,” she huffs, quietly vowing to put off said learning for as long as possible. “And gods, my alchemy and sorcery research will go so much faster now that I have you to help file and cross-reference my notes. Speaking of which, I need to fill you in on everything that’s happened and get you up to date with some things we’ve found out.” She glares at the almost-certainly-faking-it sleeping Ney. “In private, though. And out of eavesdropping range.”

Ney cracks open an eye. “Hurt, Kiss. I’m hurt. Deeply, deeply wounded. Don’t you trust me? Me, one of the most trustworthy of men?”

“Well,” Oula says archly, “that just says things about the poor standards of most men, doesn’t it?”

“Ow! That stings!” Ney glances over at Rathan. “Your little tigress has claws, doesn’t she?”

“And sharp teeth,” Rathan says back with a fond grin at Oula. “She’s as sweet as honey and as sharp as a knife.”

Oula’s pupils go heart-shaped at that praise, and she clutches her hands to her chest.

“Well, anyway, no time for that,” Ney says, stretching. “We’re almost there.”

“How do you know that?” Rathan asks.

Ney gestures up towards the light on the horizon. “That’s not west, and the sun has long-since set. That’s Malra.”

The churning of the paddlewheel brings them through busy rivers, and into a mountain valley that blazes with light. If Keris thought that the previous towns she’d seen here in Malra were pretty, this is something else. The entire valley is lit by crystal lights and plants which make the mountainsides look like a star-filled night sky. Tall viaducts and aqueducts criss-cross the slopes, some even punching through moutainsides to connect the river here to other ones. The buildings here are tall and clean, and in the night gold-leafed buildings shine like tiny suns. They’re built tall here, and she notices a large number of tall plaster-clad buildings that all seem to have been built recently. Malra has expanded, and someone’s been building huge amounts of new housing rather than let people build their own houses.

Zanara lets out a long and happy sigh of amazement at the sight of all of this. Keris is more split, though; she can appreciate the beauty, but gnawing acidic envy burns in her gut and the fires of greed are ignited in her heart. Long moments pass as she stares at the glorious city. Her hair fans out behind her in the wind, rippling sinuously. The occasional jerky twitch runs through it, in time to the clenching of her fists and her jaw. Each souring of her mood inevitably smoothes out again into wonder and awe, only for another detail to make itself evident to her and prompt another twitch.

After a few minutes, she spins on her heel, her expression tight, and disappears stiffly and wordlessly into the ship. She emerges a few moments later carrying an ornate wooden box about twice the size of her fist, which she thrusts at Ney.

“A gift,” Keris says with an undercurrent of petulance under the attempted smile. “In return for the chocolate. You would have got it sooner if you hadn’t been _such an ass_ when you arrived.”

The little silver lock holding it shut has a trick pin, but the real obstacle to the delicious bitesize wraps of cream and fruit inside is the wooden pillar that flows up from the base and fuses seamlessly into the lid. Let’s see Ney pick _that_ , Keris thinks smugly. Even if he can, she put enough effort into those pastries that it’ll probably shake up his stupid smug poker face. And the little wax figurine shouldn't hurt, either. It _had_ been the wax he'd gummed up the message tube with, back when he sent her the chocolates. Now it's a little statuette of Ney himself, in a rather humiliating position not meant for public display.

“Oh, Kiss!” Ney says with extravagant and overdone glee, “You shouldn’t have!” He glances at her. “Although it appears you didn’t feel obliged to provide a key with this. But how do you even know I’m willing to put in the effort to open something like this?” He blows on one finger, rolls back a sleeve, and taps the lock with his index finger. The lock falls off and… the box doesn’t open.

Ney looks at Keris with an expression of heartfelt betrayal. He rattles the box, testing it out with his fingertips, then frowns. He places it on the ground, and starts to circle it. 

“Do you need any help?” Keris asks sweetly, feeling smug. She hadn’t been _sure_ that the inner pillar would stymie him, not after the ridiculous disguises he pulled off. But it seems to have worked. Mwaa haa.

He picks the box back up, and frowns, running his hands over the surface. “Yes please,” he says, passing it back to Keris.

Keris isn’t fooled, though. At some point the confections vanished from inside the box. She can’t hear them - or the shushing of the paper she wrapped them in. It’s clearly the same stupid trick he used to steal her hairpieces before. And the little wax figure has vanished entirely, with no trace it ever existed. Scowling at him, she sniffs haughtily. “Resorting to cheap tricks, I see.” Taking the box, she cradles it in her hair and taps a complicated and entirely fake sequence over the lid and sides with her fingers, solely intended as a distraction from her hair-roots slipping in through the base to eat away at the pillar until there’s no trace it was there. She finishes her little tapping routine with a flick to the lid, and opens the box to show the empty insides.

“Did you enjoy them?” she asks, with a raised eyebrow. “Or did you just secret them away for later?”

Ney flips the hand whose sleeve he rolled back, and the little confections flip up and into his hand. “I couldn’t ruin the fun for you entirely, Kiss,” he says with a yawn. “I mean, you want me to eat them and say-”

He pops one in his mouth, and his eyes widen.

“... these are really good.”

Keris beams. Not entirely smugly. But still mostly smugly.

“You’re _quite_ welcome,” she says, rich with self-satisfaction. “Now, Rounen! Come on, I’m basically finished with your clothes, so let’s go do the final fitting.” Spinning around again, she stalks off downstairs, already planning how she can make some quick changes to show up the... the _reasonably_ good art and craft of this place even more than her group’s outfits already will.

Ney, of course, isn’t content to leave this alone. Or maybe he’s just cold. Certainly, for all that he gets called the Jackal, there’s something more than a little feline about him - in both his laziness and his tendency to slink into places.

“You certainly do care for Rounen, don’t you?” he says softly from behind where Keris is easing the children into their cradles. They’re a little excited and don’t really want to go to bed, but they’ve been fed and mama needs some her-time.

She helps Ogin over to where he can cuddle Kali into sleepiness as she thinks. “Calesco made me promise to look after him,” she says after a moment’s consideration. “And he’s a sweetheart. He helped me work out something important about his kind, too. And he calls- well, I guess he doesn’t anymore.” She sighs, stroking Kali’s head as her little girl nuzzles into her brother’s shoulder and her breathing evens out. “When he fell ill and shrivelled up like that... it was terrifying. There was no warning. If I hadn’t been able to hear his essence-song, I’d have thought he was really dead.”

Ney strolls over, hands behind his back. Whatever he is about to say is interrupted by loud peeping from bird-Kali, who squirms free from her brother’s grasp and pokes her bright-eyed head up and stares at Ney. Keris can recognise what she’s doing from what other baby birds she’s handled do - she’s begging for something from Ney.

“Uh,” Ney says. “What’s going on?”

Keris rolls her eyes. “She wants something from you. Kali, little feather, it’s sleepytime. Night-night? Come on, let your brother cuddle you into... whoa!”

A hair tendril snaps forward to catch a plummeting Kali, who apparently has _no fear of heights_ given the way she happily threw herself off the side of the cradle at Ney.

“Baby,” Keris says, her heartrate settling back down. “Your wings are not big enough to fly yet. _Stop doing that_.”

Kali just cheeps at her, stubby wings flapping, and stretches her neck out towards Ney again. Eyeing him, Keris frowns for a moment and then gets it.

“Urgh,” she groans. “I know what it is. Shoo. Get out of here; she’s not going to pipe down until you’re gone, if I’m right.”

Ney grins. “Maybe she’s just looking for a male father figure. It must be hard for you, as a single mother.” He bats his fingers at her. “Sorry, little girl, your mama wants you to go to bed, so I’ll just lurk outside waiting for mama to show up so we can finish the talk I was trying to have with her. Sorry, kid.”

He heads out.

“That’s _not_ what it- _urgh_ ,” Keris groans again. She’ll have to test that later... somehow, but she’s pretty sure it’s Ney’s aura of sunlight Kali was reacting to. Both of them certainly loved Keris’s flaring soul, and Kali’s nature is as much Solar as it is Hellish.

... so maybe technically it is kind of because of Kali’s father. But not like that! It’s just because Ney happens to be a Solar Exalt like Yamal was, so he feels familiar to her!

She must never let him learn this. He would be _so smug_.

At least Kali seems more willing to settle with him gone, and some more cuddles from Ogin as well as a short lullabye on the strands of Time are enough to have her making little peeping noises in her sleep. Ogin, sweet boy that he is, pats Keris’s hand before curling up around his sister and settling down.

Keris tucks them in with a kiss, and quietly slips out to where Ney is waiting. “You know,” he observes, “her eyes are sun-gold.” He grins, flashing white teeth in the gloom. “But that’s your proclivities, and I wouldn’t dare to interfere. Just please tell me she isn’t the naib’s bastard. That’d put me in a super-awkward position.” He pauses. “Or Mashy’s. I’d hate to tell her wife that she’s been unfaithful.”

“... her other parent is dead,” Keris says after a moment. “And he lived in Nexus. Same for Ogin. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

He shrugs. “You’re a strange woman, Kiss. Strange and complicated. I guess that’s one of the reasons I like you. You’ve always got more layers, and that makes you fun to be around. Say, take Mashy. She’s simple. Very, very simple. I can pretty much predict exactly what she’s going to say and do from the start of a conversation, which,” he rolls his eyes at Keris, “makes her very boring to be around. Do you know how tedious it is talking to a woman when you know what she’s going to do before she does?”

Yes, Eko explodes in Keris’ head, yes she does! It’s just the worst! Mama, Eko not-says quickly, you have to get him and not let him go and let Eko out so she can talk to him and have someone who’s on her level. Eko is even prepared to let Keris do kissy things to Ney if it’ll mean he’s around more!

Rolling her eyes, Keris throws her eldest a bone. “You’d get along with Calesco’s sister. She has the same problem,” she sighs. “But speaking of predicting people; you said you would give us the istandar. You didn’t say what you were going to tell the naib. Will you wait until we’ve left, or go straight to him and try to get approval? I can’t see the High Priestess of the Illumination agreeing to let someone like me into her city.”

“La, la, let me handle these things,” he says. “Oh, certainly, she’d probably kick up a fuss about things. But I’m not going to tell her. I’m paid to ensure Malra’s safe, and as I see it, Malra is safer with him dead and you not on a blood vendetta.” He looks at Keris. “And Taym isn’t like her. He’s more… pragmatic. If he asks, I’ll probably tell him it was an internal security matter. That or leave a trail of clues that it was an agent of the shahbanu. He’ll understand that it’s better for him not to know, so he can answer with a straight face.

“But then again, that’s what people like us are for, isn’t it? The ones with the empty ring.” He rolls his shoulders. “We all have our masks. Sometimes I think you’re two women - there’s the kind, gentle-yet-prickly new mother, and then there’s something else in you, something terrible and barely chained.

He winks. “I’d sleep with both of them, though. Both attract me.”

Keris thinks about her serpent-self; the lurking monster in the mists that’s so very like her mother’s yidak, all fangs and screams and violent fear. The silver-feathered predator that felled a demon lord so very easily.

It’s not chained at all, she doesn’t say. They just came to an agreement. The lazy hiss from the back of her mind croons agreement, its interest perked by his admission.

“You’ve glimpsed her once already,” she notes. “Be wary about seeing her again. But...”

She turns, walking the short distance to her own room, right next to the twins’ so she can easily get to them if they wake up in the night. Pausing at the door, she glances over her shoulder. “If I’m such a mystery to you, you’re welcome to have another closer look.”

Ney grins. “Oh, come on, you also like trying to find the real me. You’re not willing to believe I’m really just this shallow. But I am. That’s me. I’m as shallow as a Fire-season pond.” He follows her into her room.

His mouth tastes of the fruit treats she made him, and somewhere in the back of her mind Keris smugly congratulates herself for having the foresight to feed him those. 

Things are different this time. Part of that is because they have to be quieter given there are babies next door and other people on the boat. There’s less room here on this barge, especially given the clutter that has accumulated in Keris’ room. But it’s also less desperate, less a one-off encounter between a man chasing a mystery and a woman who wants to let a boat pass by in the night. His touches are softer and more quizzical; her kisses are slower and taste him.

And Keris realises she has missed this, she’s missed having someone in her bed when it’s cold outside and she’s been miserable with worry about mama and everything. He’s far less soft than Sasi, but he fills a different need and she falls asleep in his arms, limbs tangled together and her hair enveloping him, holding him close to her.

Maybe he’s a dangerous, annoying spymaster who spies on her and turns everything into a game, but he’s better than being alone. And despite herself; despite all his irritating traits... she likes him.

She likes what he can do, too. Her sense of touch is just as heightened as last time - and she finally gets context for what he said about cat eyes, when he points them out again. Apparently when she calls on her po’s sense of touch, her eyes change to the feline, snake-like slitted pupils her other half sees the world through.

Keris isn’t too proud to admit that said eyes end up rolling back in pleasure a few times over the course of the evening. She still gives more than she gets, though, and Ney is more out of it than she is when they finally slip into sleep.

Her dreams are mercifully vague; devoid of ghosts or ghoulish demands, and when she wakes up it’s to the shifting of the mattress and the cooling hollow of an absent body beside her.

Wrapping herself up, Keris shambles up onto deck to throw herself into the water to wash herself up. It is at that point that she remembers that they arrived in Malra last night, and so they are docked and there are people around who are looking at the tousled red-head with hair that trails several metres behind her. Also there’s ice in the river, and it’s lightly snowing.

Look, she was distracted, OK?

In the end, she heads back inside and heads over to the singing she hears in the tiny cramped sanitary room the women on the ship share. It turns out to be Oula, combing mercury from her hair. Keris tolerates several wide knowing grins from Rathan’s girlfriend as she cleans herself up and washes with warm water from the large flower which produces it on demand, then heads back up feeling more human. And wanting to get out of the presence of Oula, who she can smell also had a busy night.

She arrives just in time to catch up with Ney, who’s shown back right up.

“Sorry for that,” he says with a shrug, “just had to go explain some things to a particularly stupid harbourmaster who was saying ‘No’ to Rathan. Kid took things personally. Sounds like he’s not used to that.” He waves at Keris, and now there’s a stamped pass in his hand, which he presents to Keris. “This should get us into the canals. I have a private dock.”

“Mm,” grunts Keris, marking down a worried mental note that there are apparently people here who can say ‘no’ to Rathan and hold to it. She’ll have to get his side of the story and console him a little, later.

“Well then, while you guide my ship into your private harbour,” she smirks, “tell me about Malra. We’ll want to blend in here, at least a little, so I should know about the customs and how people act.”

Now with the pass, they’re allowed into a lock that leads up to one of the canal-bridges that pass over areas of the city. Except this one isn’t exactly a lock - it’s a mule-turned lift that pulls the boat up floating in a tiny bit of water. Keris realises some of the pulleys used in this mechanism remind her in how they sound of the pulleys in canvaswings. 

Ney doesn’t treat this as anything uncommon, though then again he might just not be showing it. “Honestly, it’s not much different from Taira,” he says. “Or, maybe, Taira before the war. I wouldn’t know - before my time. And yours. But it’s just pretty peaceful here, if you don’t mind the sounds of whatever construction work Taym’s started this week. 

He frowns. “Anyway, I suppose the big one is the fact the whole city stops five times a day for prayers to their sun-gods. Dawn prayers, noon prayers, mid-afternoon prayers - that goes to their eclipse-god, because they don’t think it’d be fair if they only got prayer that rarely - dusk prayers and midnight prayers. Though a lot of people do their midnight prayers at dusk, or at least before midnight. As you might’ve guessed, with Mashy around the whole city is pretty damn Illuminationist. If you meet her - especially if you’re with me - just… keep your mouth shut about any theological disagreements you might have. She does go on and on and on. I think these Tairans are idiots who think there’s five sun gods when there’s obviously only one sun - and he’s the father of Ahlat - but I keep quiet and avoid any flaming rows with her. She’s pretty convincing and fights are way too much effort.

“Anyway… oh, right! So, all of the high ranking officials - and more and more of the mid-and-low ranking ones have been initiated and enlightened by Taym’s teachings. So that’s probably why the place runs as well as it does. Everything just sort of manages itself. But it means that everyone here in a position of authority is pretty - hell, really - loyal to Malra. Kiss, try not to get caught breaking the law here. Things get messy, speaking from personal experience.

He catches her eye. “Hey. Taym has me test his arrangements every once in a while. They can’t catch me, but if I let them catch me, they’re remarkably hard to talk into letting me go.

“What else, what else? Obviously no spitting in the street, no public exposure, men and women dress modestly here - though it’s winter now so it’s no real bother because it’s so cold - no blasphemy, oh, and don’t get in the way when the bread dole happens.”

“Bread dole?” Keris asks.

“So, all citizens are registered with the city. That gives them a unique necklace with a number on it. All citizens are given… oh, I can’t remember what it is exactly, but one loaf of bread, one measure of small beer, and depending on season some kind of vegetable. Every day. You don’t need Mashy to make the people here fanatically devoted to Taym, Kiss. Starvation just isn’t a _thing_ here. Even the poorest citizen eats every day.”

Keris blinks in complete incomprehension. She opens her mouth and closes it a few times, then sits down, trying to wrap her head around the concept. The closest she can compare it to is the Immaculate soup kitchens and their services you had to sit through to get fed, but... those were single-building congregations. Not the whole city. And they’d refuse to let some people in, if they didn’t look like the right sort.

“So, the Illuminationists; they feed people _citywide?_ ” she asks. “As long as they’ve got those necklaces and aren’t criminals and do the sun-prayers?” she says after a moment’s thought. “ _Everyone?_ ”

“Yeah.” Ney shrugs. “And even petty criminals - there’s a certain level of crime you have to commit to be made a stranger, although repeat offenders can have that happen because… well, why steal if you’re not hungry? Like I said, Malra’s rich. And Taym told me when I asked how he could afford that that, well, enough food gets grown. It’s just a question of making it go to the right places - and his people he’s trained do that.”

He looks at Keris seriously. “And before you ask, yes, this is built on Malra’s silver. No silver, no bread dole.”

Keris’s frown turns into a scowl, and her hair rustles; feathers whispering across each other with tiny metallic rasps. She chews on the issue for a long moment, then huffs, turning and stomping across the deck to the opposite side of the barge.

“You’re making my head hurt,” she complains. “Stop it.”

“Stop telling you the truth?” Ney asks, one eyebrow raised. “I mean, I could lie to you. Would you prefer that?”

This earns him a glare. “Calesco and Vali would say that if the bread dole is built on slave labour, any good you try to claim for it is gone before it starts. You can’t build something compassionate on the suffering of others and call yourself a kind ruler.”

“Are you sure Calesco would say that?” Ney says, with a shrug. “I think she’d more likely start complaining that things were hard and demand that the world stop making everything difficult.” He catches Keris’ dirty glare. “Look, we talked a bunch about the right thing to do. She’s a… a stimulating conversationalist. And even pointier than you, and that’s saying something, Kiss. Like mother, like daughter. I have to say, she’s nothing like what the stories say a demon lord is like.”

Scooping up a handful of water with hair, Keris splashes him. “Firstly, a demon lord is a soul of a demon prince; one of the Unquestionable of Hell who are the souls of the Yozis. I am not a soul of a Yozi or an Unquestionable, so you can’t call Calesco a demon lord-”

“Nuh uh,” Ney counters. “A demon lord is a demon who rules over other demons. Calesco has demons who serve her, so she’s a demon lord. You can’t trick me there.”

“Excuse me?” Keris snaps. “Who is the occultist here? Who has more memories of her past life? Who _actually has demon-tainted power?_ ” She jabs a thumb at her chest. “Take it from the expert. I wouldn’t argue with you about how to manage your washerwomen commando-scouts-”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve literally done exactly that at least twice, Kiss.”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Keris insists. “So don’t argue with me when I tell you Calesco is actually a _deva_. Descendent-spirit of a greater power that isn’t one of the Yozis or one of the Dead. Get it right. And _secondly_ , you shouldn’t be throwing words like ‘demon lord’ around about my family _in the middle of an Illuminationist capital_ , and _thirdly_...”

She pauses for a moment as she tries to remember what ‘thirdly’ was. “And... thirdly... right, and thirdly, I’m her mother and I know her better than you, and that’s what she’d say in the end. So there.”

“Soooooooo… hypothetically if she’d said exactly that she was a demon lord, and then expanded on why demons are dangerous and crazy and you shouldn’t ever mistake her for a human being… purely hypothetically, of course,” Ney says mildly.

Keris closes her eyes and sighs, dropping her head into her hands. “Did she...” she starts, then shakes her head. “Have you seen her light? Did she ever lift her veil around you?”

“Nope, and she said she’d shoot me with her bow if I kept on asking questions about it, and she said I was about as full of questions as ‘Echo’ and that someone ought to put a cork in my mouth,” Ney says instantly. “So actually I’m really curious there.”

Rolling her eyes, Keris splashes him again. “You can spot lies, right? Well, test me if you want when I say that-”

“Oh, I know she’s a lie,” Ney say, with a shrug. “It really confused me while I tried to feel out what felt wrong about her.” He pauses. “Not in that sense, before you splash me again, Kiss. I prefer her mother. She’s too young.”

Teeth grinding together, Keris throws a passing bit of ice at his head. “She wasn’t wrong about the cork, urgh. Test me when I say that _you’d prefer an arrow to seeing her light_. Calesco wraps herself in lies to protect the people around her. Her nature under them... she’s... she doesn’t like herself very much. I’m not surprised she gave you a speech about how terrible she thinks she is, but that’s...”

She sighs again. “It’s something I’m still trying to talk her out of. I don’t like seeing my children unhappy. And _agreeing_ with her ideas about how she’s supposedly an awful demon doesn’t help anyone. She’s one of the kindest parts of me, and the reason she’s so _pointy_ , as you put it, is because the world doesn’t live up to her hopes for it.”

Ney wraps his arms around himself. “Yes, this got depressing fast,” he says wryly, shivering. “Gods, I hate the capital in the winter. I’d rather be out spying in Perswha, or even Terema.” He grins at her, flashing white teeth. “All the snow dumps itself over the mountain terrain and misses the highlands - well, mostly. We’d usually take the goats down lower to avoid the snow. But settled people are crazy and don’t move to avoid this.” He reaches over and gives Keris a little cuddle. “Hey, like I said, she’s nothing like what I thought a demon lord would be like. She’s prickly and kind despite it and she lectured me at length about how bad slavery is. And how bad several other things we saw along the way were - and got into a very rigorous argument about how I make the civil war worse for others by meddling outside of Malra.” 

He bends over to kiss the top of Keris’ head.

“She’s too good for this world - not like bad old hollow-ring people like us.”

Keris’s lips twitch. “That... does sound like Calesco,” she admits. “Makes you wonder what would happen if she and your Mashy had a chat.”

“Oh gods, don’t even make me think about that,” Ney says in a distraught tone. “The flaming rows. The bits where they scream at one another.” He pauses and blinks. “Actually, it’s pretty important we don’t let them near each other. I sort of like Calesco, even if she called me a bad man, and I’d rather not have her get burned by solar fury. Mashy’s driven demon lords back to hell through raw faith before. I don’t know what would happen to Calesco, but it certainly hurts the demon a lot.”

He pauses. “Also, then you’d probably murder her and I’d have to step in. Me vs you - I’m not sure how it’d end. You vs Mashy, I have no doubt.”

A little smirk is Keris’s only response to the admission, though she renews her decision to stay very far away from the High Priestess of the Illumination. “So, where’s this dock of yours?” she asks, changing the subject. “I hope you’re offering decent lodgings to us. We _are_ your guests here, after all.”

“Just… over there…”

The boat crawls its way along the raised canal, up into a small lake on the outskirts of the city towards the mountains. The houses up here are large, lavish, and connected primarily by canals and raised bridges. There’s a number of dwellings built around the lake which Keris can’t help but think of as baghouses. Because that’s what they are.

For one, they have roofs that are made out of gold, that gleams through the snow. That’s a big clue. 

Ney’s one faces up against the waterside, and has a recessed dock below the body of the house. Rathan guides the boat in, and there are already servants waiting for them to help them. Ney must have sent word ahead.

“Will you want your own room, or will you be sharing?” Ney says with a flirty grin.. “I did take the most comfortable bed in the house for myself.”

“I’ll share for now, but I may kick you out of it if you annoy me too much,” Keris fires back, and jumps onto the jetty without a glance at the servant offering her a hand. She starts off towards the house without waiting for Ney to guide her in, then pauses. “Wait. No, dammit. I need to sleep on the boat or it’ll... urgh, whatever, I can just grow another one when we’re ready to leave. Rounen, Oula! Get everything that’s not part of the barge unloaded and packed somewhere secure! We’ll let the barge wither unless it looks like we’ll be done in a day or two!”

Orders given, she continues up towards the baghouse, eager and envious to see what kind of luxury the naib gives his most valuable subordinates.

Much to Keris’ ire, the decoration inside is more than a little confused. Clearly the original builder wanted a place of grandiose scale, clean white marble lines, gold and everywhere crystal lights. They wanted a place to awe, a place built to a scale slightly greater than human, a place fit for a divine being. They made crystal windows that let in sunlight through carefully placed bits of the roof, which gold mirrors placed all around so sunlight always bounces around the place. The entry hall is the greatest example of this - a place where the lord of the house can sit and all eyes will be drawn to them.

Unfortunately, this is Ney’s home, and as Keris has already seen, Ney is a hoarder. The clean white lines of the house have been cluttered with suits of armour - many of them battle damaged - while he’s draped expensive rugs and tapestries and fine cowskins like she saw in Terema over the imposing walls. The end effect is like someone has deliberately graffiti’d over the tastes of the master of the house with almost rebellious disregard for the original intent.

If she asked Ney, she’s sure he’d probably say something like “It was too much effort to find a place for all my trophies”, but no - she’s sure you don’t manage something like this by accident. This _has_ to be the work of conscious design. Right?

“... I’m glad I left Oula back on the barge,” she mutters after a moment, throwing Ney a filthy look as he comes up behind her. “She might actually try to strangle you for this... this blasphemy against architecture. I think you have the opposite of whatever skill decoration and taste fall under.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Couldn’t you just have rebuilt the whole house if you were going to change the look so much? Or asked the naib to redo it the way you wanted?”

“Huh?” Ney looks genuinely blank, but then again she can’t trust him. “They’re just walls. Walls are for hanging things on. And honestly, the corridors are far too wide to not put something at the edges. It just makes the place feel hollow if you decorate things like how Taym wants things done.” He shrugs. “Plus, it makes my people feel more at home too. This place is too big for just me, so I’ll take my best performing teams here as rewards. And that way they get to see all my trophies.”

He shrugs. “I don’t see what the big deal is. And…” by now they’ve wandered through even more of the house, “ah ah!” He throws a grand pair of doors open. “I mostly just live in these few rooms when I’m here,” he says.

And it’s clear where his tastes lie. Keris is sure that this bedroom used to once be as big as some smaller houses, but Ney’s split it up with drapes and netting so it’s now four smaller rooms. The true ceiling is entirely lost under the false ceiling of gauze that covers it up. The white marble floors are lost under stacked rugs that Keris’ bare feet sink into. Compared to the vast starkness of the original house, Keris suddenly feels she’s in some kind of - luxurious, over-large - tent rather than a solid building.

He brushes through a few sets of hanging drapes, adjusting things as he goes, before the bed reveals itself. It’s larger than Keris’ entire quarters had been on the boat, and it’s by the grand crystal window that dominates one side of the original room. It’s stacked high with pillows and throws.

Ney flops back into it, sinking down notably. “So, you can put the babies off in one of the side rooms,” he says. “There’s one of Taym’s indoor washrooms over in that direction,” he lazily throws out an arm, “with a bath big enough for twelve that gets hot water from… I wasn’t paying attention, but it appears when you pull the lever if you’ve told the staff that you’re having one. There’s more things, but,” he yawns, “I didn’t get much sleep last night. So unless you want to join me, I think I’ll have a nap before lunch.”

“I’m not sleepy yet,” says Keris, already planning which parts of Ney’s estate to poke her nose into first. She finds she actually likes these quarters better than the rest - and not just because they've been completely converted so she doesn't have to suffer two clashing styles at odds. The flowing, flexible lines of the place; a startling contrast to the hard surfaces and straight lines of the original building, speak to something in her bones. She can't help but picture her wind-and-wave embroidery stitched into the rugs or painted across the hanging curtains. “I’ll stay up, get the twins settled, help finish unloading the barge, that sort of thing.”

“Then shoo,” he says, making lazy flapping motions with his hands. “I need my beauty sleep to be the dashing figure of handsomeness that I am.”

Keris gets back to the boat to find that Rounen has taken over the organisation, and everything with the unloading is proceeding without flaw. That is to say, apart from the fact that Oula is glaring daggers at him and that Kuha seems to be flirting with Rounen to avoid having to do any lifting herself. Oh, and Rathan has vanished at the prospect of manual labour which would require him to exert himself.

Honestly, when she puts it like that, it’s a minor miracle that everything is going as smoothly as it is. Rounen really is astonishing at organising things.

It’s probably for the best that Keris got back when she did, though, because the noise of the move has woken up the babies. In the night Kali returned to being a little girl, and when Keris checks on them Ogin is lowering Kali down out of their cot using his tails. She’s vaguely impressed that they’re working together like this.

Fortunately, Keris manages to thwart this escape by the cunning means of hugs, kisses, and feeding.

“Wanna wanna goooooo!” Kali explains loudly, as she tries to squirm out of Keris’ hair. Ogin seems more interested in food, though, and buries his face in Keris’ chest.

There’s a knock at the door. It’s Xasan outside, Keris hears.

“Come in,” she calls. “No, Kali, that’s... what is that? What have you got th- no, little feather, that’s one of mama’s hairpieces. Come on, give it back. I’ll make you some hairpieces of your own if you want them, but that one is mama’s and... no, Kali, don’t put it in your mouth, just... right, yes, good boy Ogin. Thank you.”

Kali’s face screws up at the loss of the shiny thing, and Keris quickly leans her sideways into her brother before she starts bawling. His flicking tails seem to do the job, and soon she’s happily burying her hands in the fluff and giggling again. Keris glances back over her shoulder at Xasan. “Hi uncle. Just trying to get these two to stay put; they just woke up. You need something?”

Xasan sighs, and enters gently, closing the door behind him. Keris offers him Kali and he takes her, sitting down. Little hands reach up to tug his beard, and he winces. Kali is having marvellous fun as she buries her face in her great-uncle’s beard, though.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, sadly. “You’ve taken up with that Ney again, and you’ve been avoiding me. Ever since that night you came back in a rush and Rounen re-appeared as a young man. What happened?”

Keris blows out an explosive sigh, sagging in her chair. She lifts Ogin into her arms, letting him wrap a couple of tails around her arm to shimmy up to her shoulder and cling to the side of her head.

“It... that night...” she starts, chewing on her lip. “A lot sort of... um...”

He mouth twists, and she gently plucks Ogin off her head and settles him back in her lap. “Have you talked to Rathan or Calesco about it? They, um, found out most of what happened, but they’ve been quiet about how they feel about it.”

“No, I haven’t,” Xasan said, frowning. “All I got was that they were angry about something. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen Rathan angry before.” He takes a deep breath, and his voice. “But Keris. Niece. What happened to Maryam? She’s not there. Her bones are missing. _What happened?_ ”

“Angry...?” Keris asks, then trails off, biting her lip. Maybe... maybe it was about... well no, there’s only one thing he _could_ really have been angry about, and she _had_ thought he might be upset, but he hadn’t seemed angry around her, so...

... she needs to know more about this. But Xasan won’t tell her anything if she doesn’t tell him anything. And... and he’s family, too. She can trust him. Maryam was - _is_ \- his little sister. He deserves to know what happened.

“Mama... mama got angry,” she whispers. “She got angry again, like... like the last time.”

It’s the second time she’s told the story. It’s no easier this time around. Keris keeps her eyes fixed on her lap as she talks, her hands listlessly playing with Ogin, summarising the events of those two nights in a hoarse voice without going into detail. The abbreviation helps. It means she doesn’t have to relive as much of what happened.

“... only when I got back to the ship, her bones were already dissolving. Rathan... Rathan and Calesco found me, um, screaming over her casket. They got me to explain, and then Calesco went off with Ney for something and Rathan made me go to sleep,” she finishes. “I think mama’s with her yidak - riding it, or controlling it, or something. She, um... she felt like she couldn’t trust us. I think she never felt like she could trust us. She was keeping it near us the whole time so she could get away if she needed to. I didn’t make her feel welcome or safe or honoured, so... so she left.” She shrinks in on herself, sniffing miserably. “I don’t know where she went. The yidak escaped through a shadowland.”

Xasan lets out a shuddering breath, then hefts up Kali and steps over to hug Keris. “There, there,” he says, voice gruff. “I was afraid of something like this, you know. The restless dead - if they go too long without being avenged, they turn sour. They get angry. They get bitter. A man dead a week will lead others to their murderer, the stories say, but one who’s seen Calibration pass will try to throttle their killer in their sleep. Dead a decade, or a century, they’ll do anything to get revenge. Anything. And,” he sighs, “the stories say the long-dead become… blurred. They lose a lot of who they were. And from what you say, Maryam was up there, hanging for years and years and years - with that monster spitting poison in her ears. It’s not your fault. It’s not even my fault, because there’s no way I could have found her.” 

He swallows roughly, and wipes his eyes with a sleeve. He chokes back a sob. “My little sister is dead, and has been dead for years and years,” he manages. “And… and you and Ali are all I’ve got left now. I… I thought it might be her, I thought I could have her back - but it’s too late for that now. We should avenge her, then leave this land behind. We don’t pray to her, and hope that Ahlat will guide her to his hand. And,” he makes a bubbling noise, “and the fact her bones collapsed like that meant… meant she cut away one of her last ties, if a story I heard is true. Because there are ways for a priest to force a ghost to pass on even if they don’t want to, and she cut that out of herself. She cut away one of the few things that isn’t revenge - her body, her bones, her family.

“Truly, my sister is dead.”

Keris flinches - a full-body jerk, as if she’d been kicked in the ribs. “That- Ney said something like that, too,” she mutters. “About Calibration. How ghosts turn bad.”

Xasan winces. “Sometimes I can almost forget that you weren’t raised in the highlands,” he says sadly, hugging her again, then lifting up Kali. She squirms and wriggles, bouncing up and down after being lifted up. “At least I should be able to make sure these two know these kind of things. Yes, your Ney probably knows the proper ways, even if he _is_ a goat-herder. This is why we have our customs, Keris. If the child carries out the revenge, the ghost can be satisfied and pass on. Because the ghost knows their child will avenge them, they won’t interfere. We help one looking for revenge for a murdered parent because it spares us all a ghost’s rage.

“I failed you. I should have thought of this earlier - but I am an old bitter man too.” He gives her a half-hearted smile. “That’s why revenge should be taken fresh, before it can turn stale and stagnant.”

Leaning sideways, Keris sprawls across the arm of the chair enough to lean her head against her uncle’s shoulder.

“It hurts,” she complains softly. “When my family fight. When the people I love fight. Whether it’s each other or me. It _hurts_ , uncle. Just thinking this stuff about mama hurts.”

A tear trickles down her cheek, falling to glance off Ogin’s cheek and making him look up in concern.

“I didn’t want it to be like this, when I came looking for them,” she whispers.

Xasan cuddles Kali. “But because you came, Ali’s off out of this country, and I’ve got my hand back. And Zany is going to live,” he says firmly, as his grand-niece’s hair curls around his fingers. “So I’m glad you came. And it’s not much longer. We’re in Malra. We might be able to find your father - and we’re definitely getting revenge for Maryam.” He shrugs. “When the gods war, the lives of men are afflicted with sorrow. All we need to do is endure misfortune, and fight.”

“Not much longer,” Keris repeats into his shoulder, nodding slightly. It’s the same advice Dulmea and Firisutu gave. It’s good advice. It’s a good plan. She just needs to endure a little longer, and then everything will be better.

It will.

It has to be.

She nods again, and snuggles closer... and after a moment, pulls back just enough to speak clearly.

“And he’s not _my_ Ney,” she mutters sulkily. “Too annoying. Shut up.”


	13. Chapter 13

It takes some time to clear out the ship and get everyone settled, and Keris discovers along the way that Calesco has gone missing.

“Rathan!” Keris yells, going for the easiest target to break. He’s on the docks when Keris finds him, sitting next to Oula who’s playing with mercury and a little lump of stone.

Her son looks at him and considers the personal risk to himself. “Both Cally and Kuha agreed they needed to scout out the city,” Rathan says promptly. “I told them not to do it but they went anyway.” 

“And I think Kuha is looking for a place to drink. She’s been complaining that there’s not been enough alcohol on the ship,” Oula chips in spitefully.

((One of the Oula traits I really like is that she’s kind of really catty and can be really bitchy whenever she’s not dealing with Keris or Rathan.))  
((Hee~))

“ _Aaaargh_ ,” moans Keris, fisting her hands in her hair. “They just. Ran out into a _Solar-controlled city_ to- and Kuha’s planning to get _drunk_ , when we’re... _argh_.” She gives her hair a couple more yanks for good measure, and swears to ground the pair for a week for pulling a stunt like- wait, no, okay. Think rationally, Keris.

She takes several deep breaths, and tries to apply logic to the situation.

Calesco can hide her nature as well as Keris herself. She won’t be picked out as a demonhost easily, and she’s very unlikely to just bump into that priestess woman on a quick scouting trip. At least unless she sees someone suffering... but Malra itself is meant to be a pretty nice place; supported by the slaves in the silver mines, which Keris isn’t exactly sure of the location of but it’s probably not “in the actual city”. Of course, Calesco will see the whole place as being built on that corruption, because if _Keris_ holds that view there’s no way that her daughter doesn’t. But that sort of simmering anger isn’t the kind of thing... _probably_ isn’t the kind of thing that will have her lashing out and drawing attention to herself. Hopefully. Maybe. Possibly.

Twitching in paranoia and barely suppressed terror, Keris re-asserts her decision to ground Calesco and Kuha for a week. Not necessarily for taking the initiative to go off on a scouting trip, but for _not telling her first and leaving her to worry_.

“Okay,” she says, hair lashing unhappily. “Okay. Was... were they flying, when they left? Please tell me they weren’t flying. I mean, don’t lie to me if they were. But please say they weren’t.”

“Cool down, mama,” Rathan says, flapping his hands at her lazily. “She copied one of those white robes with the gold trimming we saw from the boat. They’re pilgrim’s robes, I think.”

“Right,” sighs Keris. “Then... then we can probably trust her not to do something stupid, so we’ll wait for her to get back. The ship is completely clear?” She gets a round of nods, and smiles in satisfaction. “Okay, so that means we can move onto what we’re here for. Everyone come inside and we can grab Ney and interrogate him on what we need to know.”

Oula coughs. “Uh, I don’t think I want to grab Ney, Aunty. He’s nearly as scary as you are.”

“I’ll do the Ney-grabbing, then,” Keris grins. “You deal with corralling Rathan, and Rounen can get Xasan indoors. That gives us one each, hmm?”

“Well, I wouldn’t trust Rounen with anything,” Oula mutters, but Rathan shrugs.

“Sure, whatever,” he says.

Ney doesn’t take much catching. He just invites Keris to lunch. It’s the same Harbourite food she had before, and Xasan has to try to hide the fact he really appreciates this.

“So, what’s up, Kiss?” Ney says with a yawn.

“We’ve reached the capital,” Keris begins, glaring at him again over the nickname - though to be honest she’s mostly stopped trying to get him to stop - and then straightening to sit as regally as she can. The effect is broken somewhat by Kali squirming her way up onto the table and crawling across it to bat at Ney’s hand with her little chubby fingers.

“ _However_ ,” Keris says, retrieving her daughter with a hair tendril and trying to get her to accept some sweet potato, “we’re not here to sightsee. We’re here for a reason; to avenge my mother, and once that’s done we’ll be leaving. So. I’m not expecting you to be directly involved in killing him - or even cover up for me too obviously - but information would be useful.”

“Kiss, Kiss, Kiss, I’m hurt that you don’t trust me. Really.” He grins at her. “And there I was, organising some evening entertainment for you. Well, I say ‘organising’. OK, the truth is that Mashy’s invited me to a party and if I don’t go she’ll lecture me. And if I don’t bring a guest, she’ll keep on trying to set me up with boringly attractive and wholesome people she thinks I should marry. Want to be my plus-one?”

Keris freezes. “A party... with the Solar priestess. Who hates demons, and can banish them on raw faith,” she clarifies. Her hair shifts restlessly, rasping her feathers over one another and sliding needles and knives out of its locks. “I, uh... don’t think that’s a good idea. At all.”

“Oh, come on, Kiss, as an enemy of the forces of righteousness - as Mashy would put it - surely you’re not a little tempted to spy on the enemy?” He flashes a very white grin at her.

This nets him another glare. “I’m a lot more tempted _not to get sun-magic thrown at me_ ,” Keris retorts. “And if I’m on the opposite side to _you_ , I don’t see how the forces I’m an enemy of can be called ‘righteous’. Enemy of the forces of smug nosiness, perhaps. What do I get out of going besides some probably-acceptable food and entertainment and a chance to spy on a couple of very dangerous people? I’ve got no reason to risk it when I’m only here for...”

She pauses, narrowing her eyes, and stares at Ney for a moment.

“... he’s going to be there, isn’t he?” she accuses. “If he wasn’t already going to be there, you... sent him a letter or got him on the guest list somehow so I’d _have_ to come with you and act as your shield against matchmaking. And now you’re just waiting for the best moment to spring it on me.”

“La, la, Kiss, why do you want to go ruin things for me like this?” Ney says, his eyes crinkling up as he smiles. “Here I am, preparing a nice surprise for you and you ruin it by guessing it. Is that any way to treat me?”

“Oh, don’t get me started on how I’d like to treat you,” Keris returns automatically, her tone low. A strangled-sounding cough comes from Oula, and Keris abruptly remembers that her uncle, son and sort-of-niece are all listening. Her face instantly flushes red. “A-as in smacking him around the head with my spear!” she adds hastily. “Look, shut up and... never mind. Fine. If the istandar will be there, I guess I’m going.” She purses her lips. “Will it be safe to take anyone else? Rathan, say, or Calesco? You’d know better than me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Ney says, with a shrug. “The naib might take some time away from his work to attend - and though he hates parties, he still shows up because it’s expected of him. You might get away with Calesco doing one of her adorable little disguises and passing as a servant, but honestly I wouldn’t risk it. Where is she, by the way?”

“Around,” says Keris airily. “Having some alone-time with Kuha, last I checked. So, the naib is a risk for spotting disguises. I’ll have to try and avoid him, then.”

“Only if he has reason to look, but he has an eye for demons,” Ney says. “He’s a powerful sorcerer, and it comes with the territory.”

“Mmm. I don’t suppose you know how what Circle he’s achieved?” Keris asks, without much hope. Ney is... kind of pathetic at the occult sciences. “Has he ever summoned a demon lord or a greater elemental, or...” she wracks her brains for the Sapphire spells Sasi’s mentioned. “Or... uh... disappeared in one place and reappeared in another?”

“Afraid that’s state classified information, Kiss. But,” he pauses, “everyone knows the story of how he compelled a demon lord to serve him by tricking it. So take that as you will.”

Nodding absently, Keris mentally chalks the naib up as ‘extreme threat’. If he’s gained the Sapphire Circle, that probably means he’s at least as powerful as Sasi - and while he may only be Sasi-level in actual combat, Keris has seen the kind of devastating power her lover’s sorcery can conjure if she’s given a few seconds to cast.

“I’ll be going alone, then. Calesco can act as ranged backup outside the venue in case things go to hell and I need a quick exit. Rathan, Xasan, you two are our exit route. Keep the boat ready to leave - it’s still got a while before it decays - and protect the twins. Ney; when is this party? How long will I have to get ready?”

“After Twilight prayers this evening,” Ney says. “Mashy won’t let parties start if they’d stop people going to prayers. She’s very dull that way.”

Keris rolls her eyes. “I can imagine. In that case, Rathan, Oula? Come help me pick an outfit. Rounen, it may be too much to hope that Ney has a library here, but it’s worth checking. Uncle, could you come have a private chat with me while I decide what to wear?” She grins. “I’ll need help keeping the twins off my good dresses anyway.”

“Of course I have a library!” Ney says, sounding hurt. “I can read. Kiss, why are you so cruel? Where am I meant to put interesting-looking books I steal as trophies?”

Trap set, baited and closed, Keris thinks triumphantly. “Oh, wonderful!” she chirps, suddenly going doe-eyed and innocent. “Rounen hasn’t had anything really _good_ to read since he woke back up, so if your collection is as grand as that, I’m sure you’d be nice enough to show him around it while Oula and Rathan and I pick out what pretty dress I’ll be wearing. And of course you’ll be on your best behaviour and not say anything insulting to him when he so recently went through an ordeal. Right?” She cocks her head and flutters her eyes demurely, not even trying to make it believable.

“But here I was going to give you a dress as a present,” Ney counters, just as shamelessly. “And help you try it on.”

“Oh, that’s fine too,” Keris counters. “Just show Rounen and Rathan to the library first so they can look around while we get on with that, then.” She smirks in silent challenge. Ney either has to give her some privacy for her talk with her uncle, or let Rounen root around his library more or less unsupervised while Rathan distracts any chaperones.

“Come on, boys,” Ney says with a shrug. “Just don’t tear them and things will be fine.”

“I would never tear a book!” Rounen says, puffing out his cheeks in outrage.

The boys leave.

“So,” says Keris, the false cheerfulness dropping away as suddenly as she’d donned it. “While he’s busy with the boys... uncle? It might turn out that I’ll have to wait until tomorrow, but there’s a chance I’ll be avenging mama tonight. At the party. Beyond telling him her name so he knows what he’s dying for and then strangling him, is there anything I should do - or you want me to do - to complete her vengeance properly?”

Xasan spreads his hands. “Death is all that’s really needed,” he says. “There are more formal rites, but they’re nice to have - and honestly, I don’t know them all myself. I never had to do them.”

Keris nods. “I’d bring you along to witness if I could, like with Agemi Beik, but with the naib and the priestess there it’ll be tricky enough as is,” she says apologetically, keeping an ear out for Ney’s return. “If I can frame the scene so it looks like he died in some humiliating way, though, I will.” Her smile is thin and vicious.

“I’ve had my share of blood,” Xasan says, wincing. “I don’t think I could stab him to death like I did to that bastard who took you all, not with the Sun-chosen around.”

She hugs him. “I’ll avenge mama,” she promises. “Tonight, or tomorrow. Find papa. And then we can leave this place behind, with all its painful memories.”

Ney returns. “Wow,” he says, with a yawn. “Rounen really likes books. If he starts humping them, I’m going to blame you. Now, come on. I’ve got a dress for you. It’s from the home country.”

“Oula will be coming along to give me a second opinion, of course,” Keris smirks. She’s not un-willing to let Ney help her out of her dress - again - but that doesn’t mean she won’t make him work for it. “Let’s see it, then. Lead on.”

“Oh, looking to get one for her out of it? I have more.” Ney smirks. “Kiss, I have a _massive_ costume wardrobe. You never know what I might need for a specific role.”

He leads her and Oula through the mansion, into one of the areas deeper in the house. He throws open some doors and Keris sees...

... clothes. Clothes, everywhere, of all kinds and shapes and sizes. There’s carefully hung up rags, there’s servant’s clothing with all kinds of insignia on it, there’s the uniform of the shahbanu’s soldiers - and more uniforms too - and there’s all kinds of formal clothing of various finesse and styles.

“Pretty good, right?” he says to Oula and Keris.

A high-pitched noise of glee is all that answers him, and ‘Oula and Keris’ becomes ‘Oula and a Keris-shaped hole in the air’ in the time it takes for him to turn around. Keris is already halfway across the room by that point, slit-pupiled and purring, running her hands across a silk brocade jacket with gold thread embroidery while one set of hair tendrils holds up a set of boiled leather armour and another traces along a shelf full of cosmetics.

“It’s so _pretty_ , mama!” Nara’s voice echoes in her head with dreamy excitement. “So many different things! Look! Look over there! The hat with the chains! And over there, all of the pretty lacework! You need a place like this, mama!”

“You’re not going to do anything, eh?” Ney asks Oula.

Oula sniffs. “Aunty can be excitable enough for the both of us,” she says. “I don’t like cloth so much. I prefer to work in stone or wood or ice.”

“Oula!” Keris yells over her shoulder without looking away from the shoes she’s now inspecting. “Makeup and perfumes! Come see!” That draws her over, and she's soon admiring the beauty products and making interested noises.

“Now,” Ney says, taking Keris by the waist and guiding her along the aisles, “this is what I wanted to give you.”

[There’s a dress here.](https://i.imgur.com/QjpNV4x.jpg) It’s not in a style she’s familiar with. It’s made of sharp red, yellow and brown contrasting sections, and while it’s strapless and exposes the arms, below the waist it’s an almost hypnotic layer upon layer upon layer of folded fabric which merges with the broken-up colour.

It’s like camouflage, Keris realises. It’s like a tiger’s stripes, turned into a formal dress.

“Hello...” she murmurs, lips pursing as she looks it over and compares the red to her hair - the shades don’t jar against each other, which is good, though her silver feathers look a little odd against the bright colours. She’ll have to blend them with the dress somehow... gold or brass beading in her hair, then, so that the silver will reflect and mirror the hue. And... accessories... gold would be an obvious choice, but wearing even more gold jewellery to a Solar party seems tacky, and besides, it won’t go well with the sharp yellows of the dress without her hair there to outmass it...

“Aunty, you’re talking out loud,” Oula points out quietly. Keris shrugs, and raises an eyebrow at Ney. “I assume this has jewellery to match it? And is the right size? Because me and strapless dresses usually don’t get on well.”

“The jewellery, yes. I have plenty. The size... that, I can’t promise,” Ney admits. “It’s sized for me, albeit sometimes me in one of those tight corsets that make me look much shorter and thinner than I am. Awful things, but there’s only a few ways to compress yourself down when you need to be a tiny woman. But I’ve seen you’re a sorceress with a needle. I’m sure you can make it work.”

“True enough,” Keris murmurs. “Alright. Oula, find something for yourself that Rathan will like you in; since Ney volunteered two dresses. And try out some of that makeup.” She looks over the dress again and pouts mournfully. “I won’t be able to do any kicks,” she sighs. “Oh. Though all these layers and folds... wow, I can hide _so many weapons_ in here.”

She glances at Ney with newfound respect. “You might be onto something with this style,” she concedes; reluctantly impressed. “I might have to reproduce it back home.”

“Kiss, do you really need to kick with hair like that?” Ney asks, running his hands through the mass of red velvety-soft hair. “I thought of this one because I thought it’d go beautifully with your look. There’s plenty of red-haired women back home - we’re Southern enough that there’s more red than green.” He grins. “Harbourhead fashion is going to be one of the few things that matches your complexion and colouring.”

Trapping his hand in a coil of hair and refusing to let it go again, Keris shrugs. “I like my kicks. And running. It’s hard to run in a dress like this.” Well, okay, that’s a lie. Once she’s running; very little gets in the way or slows her down. But one of the consequences of not being slowed down in a dress like this is that when her running and the encumbrance of the dress get into a contest; the dress loses. And it _is_ a rather pretty dress, so losing it would be a shame. “But please, do show me more of this Harbourhead fashion,” she continues with a smile. “Apparently I have a wardrobe to fill out with things that suit me.”

Of course, that’s an invitation for him to guide her around this place - and Zanara is literally beside themselves with glee, because both Zana and Nara are babbling with glee in Keris’ head. Keris sees the clothing that the herders wear, the garments of the priests and priestesses, the battle dress of the Brides of Ahlat...

It’s like seeing her mother’s culture, pinned in a box and left for her to see. Beautiful, but dead.

And then they’re off to the bedroom, to change.

Keris insists on seeing Ney in the dress before she alters it to fit her. Depressingly, she’s forced to admit... he actually looks really good in it. Not that she says so out loud, but something about the way he smirks makes her think he knows what she was thinking.

Such an ass. Seriously.

She helps Oula pick out some makeup and dresses that Rathan will no doubt appreciate, and spends a while longer touring the hall of costumes as she works; holding the dress up with her hair so that she can wander while she brings it in. It’s a really extensive collection - albeit not as pretty as the one she immediately decides she’ll be getting. Ney’s includes things like peasant clothes and dirty rags; hung with as much care as the gorgeous brocade silk finery.

Zanara is still thoroughly impressed, though, and chatters away gleefully in harmony with themselves the whole time.

The dress is finished quickly enough, and Ney manages to lure Keris into cleaning up before her big night - which translates as taking advantage of the enormous hot bath that’s already filled, lightly scented with perfume and fully stocked with beauty products. Naturally, as a gracious host, he’s only too happy to accompany her in and help her with getting fully clean.

Doing so in a bath big enough for her to swim in might not have been his best move. Still, she doesn’t take advantage of the favourable terrain to get one over on him. Much.

Washed, dried, pampered and satisfied, it’s finally time to start getting ready for real - and here Keris hits a snag. Kali and Ogin. She’ll need someone to look after them, but for the length of time the party is likely to go on for...

Wrapped in towels - most of which are containing her hair - she cuddles them to her on the bed and considers. A Gale would be the best option. Well, a Gale plus Rathan and Oula and Xasan; the combination of which _should_ be enough to contain her twins’ escape attempts for one night. But... she hasn’t let Ney know she can do that yet. He’s still recovering in the bathroom... maybe she could hide it from him? Keep the Gale out of sight until they leave? No, wait, he’s got his commando-servants in the house; they’d just report it.

Urgh. So annoying.

Keris breathes out a bloody mist, and watches it take form as another her; wearing a loose shift and looking equally fresh and pampered. The other her blinks a couple of times, checks which of them is holding the babies, and pouts.

“Aww,” she mutters. “I’m gonna be exhausted by the end of tonight, you know that? And you get to go look at pretty things and kill people.”

“You’ll survive,” retorts Keris, amused. “Now, wanna pull one over on Ney?”

Her doppelganger grins.

When Ney comes out, the beautiful redhead he’s hosting is lounging on one of the piles of rugs; still in her shift, with a human Kali on her lap and an Ogin clamped onto her shoulder. She’s reciting something to them in Tengese Firetongue - a rhyme of some sort that’s making them giggle - and shows no signs of getting up or getting dressed.

Sprawled out on the bed, perfectly blended into the pattern and texture of the blankets, Keris herself watches with gleeful anticipation.

Ney pauses, tilting his head. “OK, Kiss,” he says, “I know you didn’t want the babies to vomit on you or whatever babies do when you’re wearing nice clothes... but you need to get changed.”

“I dunno,” the Gale says playfully. “I’m not sure I want to leave the twins all night. Who knows what they might get up to?”

He rolls his eyes. “Look, stop messing around,” he says, stepping up closely. 

Kali perks up, and lunges for him, exploding out of the Gale’s lap like a pouncing tiger only to faceplant in front of his feet like a silly kitten. She rolls over, confused by the way his feet treacherously weren’t where she expected them to be, and stares up at Ney with big golden eyes.

“Heya, little one,” he says, squatting down. He dangles his hand over her, and she bats at his fingers with clumsy hands and legs. “You do like me, don’t you?”

“Ablooooooo!” Kali expounds. Well, okay, blows a bubble.

“You’re much friendlier than Kiss, aren’t you?”

Something about the noise sets Kali off, and she makes a kissing noise and then giggles.

“Hey!” the Gale protests.

“Yep, that’s your mama’s real name,” he says, grinning at the Gale. “Kiss.” He makes a kissing noise. “Mama is Kiss!”

“If you keep being like this,” she says haughtily, beckoning Kali back and failing to get her attention, “I’m not going with you after all.”

Lying on the bed with her chin resting in her hands, Keris’s grin spreads further. Oh, she hopes he used his truth thing on that. Probably too much to hope for, but it would be really funny if he did.

“Besides,” the Gale continues impishly. “Who says I’m not already dressed for the party?”

“Well, for one,” Ney says with an easy shrug, “you’re not exactly Kiss.” He scoops up Kali, who doesn’t seem very interested in Gale-Mama when she can climb all over this new interesting shiny gold man. “Kali wouldn’t be ignoring you like this if you were. She doesn’t think you’re exactly you.” He boops the little girl on the nose and she giggles, grabbing for his fingers with her little hands. “What do you think, Kali? Where’s Mama?”

Kali focuses, and points at the Gale.

“Okay, okay. But where’s _also_ mama?”

Kali frowns, and looks over at the bed. “Ma ma!” she crows.

“Thank you, young lady,” Ney says. “You’ve been very helpful with my investigations. Come on, Kiss. Okay, you got me at first, but me and Temporary Apprentice Junior Huntress Kali have sniffed you out.”

“You are _not_ apprenticing my daughter,” Keris growls, fading into visibility and swinging herself up from the bed; tiger dress clinging to her upper body and falling in an artful chaos of folds and ruffles below her waist. “Though... hmph. Well, at least you got it eventually.”

“I do my best,” Ney says, with an easy grin.

“Ma ma!” Kali contributes loudly, beaming at her treachery. Rolling her eyes, Keris scoops her up and cuddles her. “No fair, Kali,” she mock-scolds. “Turning on your mama like that and using your cleverness against me.” She kisses her daughter on the forehead. “You be a good girl for your other mama tonight, okay? No escape attempts.” She leans over to kiss Ogin on the head. “You too, moonbeam. Don’t look innocent at me, I know you’re behind as many of them as your sister.”

“Mama will be back later tonight with treats for you, okay?” her Gale chimes in seamlessly. “And she’ll know how well you behaved, so be extra good if you want yummy food!”

She and Keris share a grin, before Keris straightens up and brushes her dress down. “How do I look?” she asks, slanting a look at Ney to take in his opinion - and also his reaction to there being two of her.

Her Gale considers. “Lethal,” she decides after a moment. “And too good for that one, but I suppose he’ll do until you find a better offer.”

“That’s the most a poor, neglected man like myself can hope for - the love of a beautiful woman like you two. What a shame your hearts are as black as sin,” Ney say. “La la, what sins did I commit in a past life that such beauty falls in the hands of this cruel malice of yours, Kiss?”

“You don’t seem surprised,” Keris advances cautiously, narrowing her eyes at him. “What, have you seen this before? Or are you just too overwhelmed with shock and joy at me having myself for company?”

“Kiss, I do declare I’m quite beside myself with shock at seeing you beside yourself.” He flutters his eyelashes at her.

Her Gale mirrors her eyeroll perfectly. “Of course you are. Fine, let’s get going. Unless Calesco’s back?”

“I haven’t seen her,” he says. He offers her his arm. “That doesn’t mean much, of course. She is your daughter.”

“Well, she’ll show up,” Keris shrugs. Her Gale nods at her. There’s no need to give her a message to pass on - she already knows it. “Then, if you will?”

“It’s not quite sunset yet,” Ney says. “So how about we go see something else around the city while we wait for Mashy to finish? We might have time for one thing or so. Anywhere you want to see?”

Keris hesitates. There are in fact several, from what she remembers of the map. “The Ever-Fire Manse-Gardens caught my eye...” she says slowly, then frowns. “Which you know full well, because you were clinging to the ceiling when they did. Or the factory district... mm. The Gardens, I think. Show me something pretty.”

“The gardens, then,” Ney says. 

It’s stopped snowing, and this means that Keris and Ney can walk together - wrapped up in furs - to the Ever-Fire Manse Gardens.

Within this city of white marble and honey-coloured stone, the gardens are a square intrusion of harmonised, organised nature that’s barely natural. The rest of the city might be snowy, but this place is still green. In fact, the earth and green grass steams. There are red lilies and red cherries and red gravel gardens.

And nothing is out of place. The stones are swept into places, the rings of plants are symmetrical, and the braziers burn brightly.

Keris plucks a cherry from a branch and flicks it into her mouth, tasting the sweet tang and letting her eyes flicker green as she looks across the natural-made-artificial expanse. She hums thoughtfully; not quite willing to dial her hearing up to pick out the underlying truth of the place, but intrigued by the synaesthesia-sense of the place. The heat she tastes around here is tamed, contained, restrained. It’s the difference between a wildfire and a hearth. It’s been chained into shape, to make this place that’s like a greenhouse without glass, that’s always warm and where the fruit burns like spirits as it goes down.

((Fire essence, Manse 2))

“Haneyl would love this,” she murmurs without thinking. For a moment she misses her daughter so painfully that she has to stop and take a shuddery breath. “I... I mean, sh-she’d complain that the colour scheme uses too many reds and want to reshape all the flowerbeds and demand that it be a septagon instead of a square and look down her nose at the braziers. But underneath all that, she’d love the idea of a fire-garden manse. It’d be right up her alley.”

“Taym loves this kind of thing,” Ney says softly, guiding Keris to one of the marble benches. They’re warm to sit on, as if they’d been out in the summer sun. “You’ve seen how he funds Malek Qaja, despite how she can be. She made this for him. If your Haneyl wanted to work for him, he’d be just as generous to her. Money, assets, assistance, opportunities...”

Keris shakes her head. “It’s... it’s been almost two seasons, and I _miss_ her. I miss her so much...”

She wipes away a stray tear before it can smear her makeup. “I couldn’t cope with her being on the other side of Creation for any length of time. And I wouldn’t trust her being here on her own without anyone to protect her, either. She’d say she doesn’t need it, but she’s still too young.”

“Well, you know,” Ney says - and Keris gets the feeling he’s been shifting things around to bring this up, “this isn’t a place that you’d have to leave behind. No,” he says, raising a hand, “hear me out. You could stay. Bring your family here. This isn’t a place you’d ever have to fear the Realm, or the lords of Hell. They’d be safe here, Kiss. So would you. Someone like you or me - we can demand a high price. If you were here, you could push Taym to get rid of slavery as your price. You’d be rich, you’d be paid a fortune to make all the art and beautiful things you want...

“You don’t have to answer now. Just think about it.”

((Heh. That would be... a _considerable_ asset-boost for Taym. Not just Keris, but her children too. Admittedly they’re hard to make full use of, but still.))  
((Exactly. It’s a thing - and from Ney’s PoV, that’s one Night and six demon lords on side. There’s certainly the Anchors here for it.))

Keris purses her lips... but bites down on her instinctive refusal. It... isn’t entirely un-tempting. This is her homeland, after all. It’s beautiful. She could help people, if he’s telling the truth about the naib getting rid of slavery in return for her loyalty. And the prospect of getting to spar with Ney as much as she wants isn’t entirely awful.

But...

... well. She has other ties.

“Later,” is her only response; soft and a little hoarse from the lump in her throat. They sit in silence for a while longer, Keris drawing her fingers softly across the marble bench and sampling a couple more cherries. Ney seems content to let her think and drink in the regimented aesthetics of the gardens.

“Then,” she says eventually, breaking the silence. “On to the party?”

((Oh Ney. That kind of bounced off her MBD links to Sasi and Lilunu, but if it hadn’t, it would have stood a pretty good chance.))

The party itself is happening in the palace itself, a towering pyramidal structure. The eldest stone in it, Keris sees, isn’t human in origin - this was something built by the Dragon Kings and their ancient artwork is still visible around the base. But of course, men have built atop the pyramid and around it, and this place is a golden-roofed wonder guarded by soldiers in perfectly shining armour.

“How do you want to be introduced, Kiss?” Ney asks as he lazily strolls past the soldiers with an insolent grin on his face. “Any particular names?” He smirks. “Kiss, a Nexan courtesan who caught my eye? It’d annoy Mashy.”

“Cinnamon,” Keris corrects. “Tenné Cinnamon. That’s what I used in Terema, at least.” She smiles, slow and seductive. “Of course, Cinnamon might be a little too much for you to handle; the way I played her there...”

Internally, she mournfully accepts that there is almost no chance of her getting through tonight without Ney calling her “Sin”; probably at a point deliberately calculated to annoy Mashid as much as possible. She’ll have to work out some sort of subtle revenge. Like getting him to blush and stutter in front of a bunch of his commandos, maybe.

“Wait, you actually want to be introduced as a Nexan courtesan?” He seems surprised. He might have just been teasing about that. “As some kind of streetwalker from that depraved city?”

((Oh, Ney. He’s never actually been to Nexus, but he’s heard stories of it.))  
((Lol. Exactly the same mistake as Orange Blossom.))  
((Except now Keris has already done it once and found out how much fun it is to lean into the role~))

Keris doesn’t go rigid or tense, but there’s a certain forced nonchalance to her movements for a few seconds before a lazy smile slips across her face and her body language shifts. “Streetwalker?” she purrs. “Oh, darling, as though I would sully my feet with the streets. If I’m a courtesan, I’m a _high-class_ one. Who travels everywhere by palanquin. And who princes would sell their palaces for a night with.” She tuts chidingly and taps him on the nose. “But I suppose I wouldn’t expect a country boy like you to know such things about the big city, mm?”

“I am just a humble goat-herder at heart,” he agrees affably. “We weren’t even rich enough or good enough at fighting to have land for any real number of cows.”

“Mmm. Then you must have done something very impressive to have me grace you with my company tonight, mustn’t you?”

“Well, I am the head of an elite army and also the chief spymaster of the naib of Malra - and rightful shah of Taira,” he says, arm hooked around her waist as they stroll through the snow-covered gardens to where the music is coming from. The sun has set and everyone else must have rushed straight here from prayers.

... honestly, Ney showing up late is probably completely unsurprising, Keris decides.

And that suspicion is confirmed when the feather-crowned woman at the doors who’s flanked by guards frowns at Ney. “What are you doing here so early?” she demands. “Did someone die?”

“Well, it’s a long story. I’d actually forgotten there was a party here tonight, and right now I’m here undercover, chasing a demonic assassin who’s here to murder a target. It’s not that I actually wanted to get here on time, you see. It’d entirely ruin my reputation.”

Oh, that little shit, Keris thinks. Outwardly, she threads her arm through his and radiates allure. Not to the level of drawing on Rathan’s light, but she’s certainly beautiful enough without it.

... she’s also doubtful the guards will fully believe Ney’s excuse. She wouldn’t. In fact, in their place, she’d be tempted to assume that his companion had nagged him into arriving on-time so she could enjoy more of the party.

“Mmm hmm. Sure.” Clearly the feather-crowned woman has heard his stories before. “And who is this?” She looks at Keris.

“Tenné Cinnamon,” she murmurs, letting her eyes dip in a brief curtsy as she takes in the woman’s strength. Could this be the priestess? Or just her wife who possibly talks to birds? But no, it’s just another one of the sun-bright mortals who are all over this city. Far too weak for that.

((E2, Solar essence))

“Well, welcome, Lord Adami and guest,” the woman says, clashing her fist to her chest with a metallic clash.

And they’re in, in through the grand gates and into a room which takes the white and gold theming of Ney’s house in the bits he hasn’t got to, and turns it up to eleven. Crystal lights float in the air, casting a gleaming prismatic radiance over everything. The ceiling here is inset with stained glass that starlight makes gleam and twinkle. The walls are covered with hammered gold, and the floor is pure white marble. And the music - pipes blow, drums beat, and there’s something thin and wailing rising above it all. In the centre of the room is a great floral array of lavender and lilacs and honeysuckle, fresh despite the season, which fills the air with sweet scents.

Keris has only seen a few places that top this in lavishness, and all of them are in Hell.

But she’s not in Hell - she can tell that much. This is a room full of humans - well, mostly humans - even if it burns bright to her senses with all the sun-touched men and women in here. If Ney or the naib has trained everyone here, they’ve been busy. Women wearing hair-thin face veils dance with men in lavish robes of deep purple or crimson, all trimmed with gold.

“Some of them look like overstuffed fowl,” Ney whispers barely moving his lips. “Look at that man there. In that purple, he looks like a rotting pomegranate.” He suddenly grins. “I’m glad you’re here, Kiss. You’ll appreciate my commentary. I have to keep it to myself normally.”

“You’re not the only one commenting, though,” Keris murmurs back. “I’m hearing all sorts of catty remarks and rumours. Want to know who has the good gossip on who?”

“Of course not. Most of the people here are boring and venal, Kiss,” Ney says without moving his mouth, smiling broadly as he guides her through the room. “They’d have a weeping fit if they had to take a week-long boat trip, even with someone as fascinating as you. There’s only a few interesting people here - and they’re usually the ones who leave the capital _ever_. Take our dear hostess,” he says, turning to head towards the head of the room. “I’ve said she’s boringly predictable, but at least she’s not afraid to slum it. Actually, she may be too stupid to understand fear.”

Mashid Atrai, high priestess of the Illumination is at the head of the room and if everyone else is a flame of sunlight to Keris’ senses, she is the sun herself. She burns like the sun. She burns like Ligier. Keris’ stomach quails as for the first time in quite a long time, she comes across someone more powerful than her.

The woman herself is dressed in cloth of gold, and her hair is painted with gold leaf. Her golden veil is as thin as mist, and a pair of deep brown kind eyes watch the world. She is a golden figure, and everyone seems to revolve around her. The woman underneath is darker than Keris, but not in the same way - she has a little bit of the same look as Malek, so maybe she has some Varangian blood or is from southern Taira.

And she’s visibly very, very pregnant. Barely less pregnant than Keris was a few months ago.

((E10, Solar Essence))

And what is the sun without a moon? Next to her stands a big, hulking woman - taller than Ney, with olive-coloured skin and short green hair. Keris has seen the look of such people before. She’s a Vakotan, and she looks visibly uncomfortable in the red gown she wears which strains when she shifts her arms. Maybe she’s one of their smith-priests - she certainly has the build for it. Tattoos of birds whirl and swoop on her skin, moving under the flesh. She looks like she should be in their brightly coloured shawls and checkered headscarves and hard-wearing leathers, not wearing a gown in a style meant for much less active women.

But she tastes of cold nights and smells like the air outside, and she’s only a little weaker than Keris.

((E8, Lunar essence))

It is only with great effort, a bruising grip on Ney’s wrist and the quiet whine of stressed metal among her braids that Keris keeps her hair from fanning out behind her in lashing, coiling fear. She knows, intellectually, that Ney’s assessment of her being able to kill the priestess should it come to a fight was accurate.

Faced with the burning force of sunlight within her, Keris finds it hard to remember that in her gut. If Ney is Malra’s answer to her, this is Malra’s answer to Sasi - a servant of the Sun against Sasi’s position as a prophet of the Yozis. Only Mashid Atrai is stronger than Sasi.

Keris could kill her in a fight, yes. But the real threat she poses isn’t a physical one. And no doubt her wife would get involved should it come to violence. Those aren’t odds Keris likes at all, and her skin prickles at the reminder of just how deep in enemy territory she is.

((Oh Keris~))  
((And suddenly Keris realises why Malran society just _works_ when it comes to loyalty and the like and why the Illumination is spreading like wildfire.))

“Oh, you showed up - and early too! I’m so happy!” are the first words from Mahshid. “See, Ney, you can get places on time when you try! You don’t need to spend all your time thinking up your funny stories!”

Ney shrugs. “I thought I’d spice things up. Mashy, Miray, yes, I showed up.”

Mahshid takes his hand. “That’s wonderful,” she says with wide eyes. “Really, really wonderful! There’s even hope for you!” She shifts her attention to Keris. “And who is this _beautiful_ woman with you!?” 

“This is Cinnamon. She’s a courtesan from Nexus. You know the saying about a good woman and their price being beyond gold? Well, she’s an interestingly bad one. Very interesting indeed,” Ney says, wrapping his hand tighter around Keris’ waist.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Keris thinks she won’t be able to respond properly. That the intimidating force of sunlight arrayed around them has flustered her enough to trip up her tongue and break her act and draw _suspicion_ and...

... and then something _clicks_ in her head, like a dislocated bone slotting back into place. Or, no. Perhaps more like that first transition to her wind-form. A new way of looking at the world; one that’s been creeping up on her and which, in her panic, she’s finally got a good grip on.

Back when she first used Cinnamon, it was as a slap in Orange Blossom’s face; taking her suggestion of pretending to be a courtesan further than she’d expected or wanted. But it worked - and it worked well - because Cinnamon was beautiful and alluring and impossible to slap back at. She’s a flower, hiding the thorns underneath - and throughout her time in her homeland, Keris has been using that same act. Concealing her knives under silks, veiling her fangs with smiles, being pretty and pleasant and blending into the jungle of words and motives the same way she disappears into bushes and foliage.

And now, in a situation where she needs that flower-facade desperately but finds herself too unsettled to act it out... it turns out there’s a balance. A groove in her mind she can settle into where it comes naturally. An instinct for spreading her petals and delighting those around her.

((Activating Flowering the Fairer Face to gain awareness of the customs and fashions and taboos and so on, and also taking a Read Motive on Mahshid for what she expects.))

Mahshid Atrai is... about as simple as Ney says she is. And, uh, very optimistic. She really isn’t expecting very much from Keris. She thinks she’ll have a thing for Ney and that while there may be a fiscal relationship, she hopes they really do love one another. Otherwise, she just expects her to be nice to Mahshid herself and generally wants her to enjoy herself at her party.

((FtFF query: what’s the etiquette for addressing Mahshid? Like, what title is someone like Cinnamon expected to use for her?))  
((FtFF tells her that she can be pretty informal with Mahshid and she won’t mind - as long as you’re not trying to be rude, she doesn’t mind, and she actually prefers people to not be too much on their dignity with her))  
((Yes, but Ney _did_ bring Keris here to get on her nerves... : P))  
((Hmm, okay.))

“Tenné Cinnamon,” Keris purrs with Cinnamon’s voice, looking the woman up and down with evident interest. “And my beauty pales against yours, my lady. It’s a pity I’m here with Ney tonight.” She winks playfully. “But I suppose I can be content with him as a runner-up.”

Mahshid laughs. “I’m sorry, I’m married,” she says, raising a hand to show her orichalcum-and-moonsilver wedding band.

“Yes,” the big woman - Miray - next to her says, scowling. “Yes, my wife is married.”

Ney, of course, doesn’t say a thing.

“Have you travelled far to get here? What are you doing in Malra anyway?” Mahshid asks conversationally. “From your accent, you’re from... Nexus? Somewhere in the Scavenger Lands, at least.”

“Nexus, yes,” Keris agrees. “Have you ever been? There’s no other city like it, believe me.”

“I’ve heard stories.” Ah, she’s more guarded there. She’s still not the most guarded person in general, though, and Keris can tell that those stories aren’t ones that gave her a good opinion of that city. Shrugging, Keris tosses her hair back. “Well, stories are one thing, but you can’t trust word of mouth. Visiting is the best way to know a place. That’s part of why I travel as much as I do.”

Miray smirks. “That’s true,” she says. “Of course, you say you’re from Nexus, but from the looks of things, you’re not too unlike him.” She nods at Ney. “What are you, cousins?” There’s a leer in the Vakotan woman’s look.

“Oh, no,” Keris smiles placidly. “But I am actually Tairan by birth! I came down here to look for family - not that I’ve had much luck there so far. Still, I got to meet Ney, whose background is fairly close to mine, so it wasn’t a total loss...”

((OK, so what - if anything - is Keris looking for out of this conversation?))  
((In lieu of the fact she’s there with Ney, she’s being polite and friendly and nice but deniably needling them a little - more Miray than Mahshid because Mahshid is scary and also, uh, too ditzy to needle very easily. She also - hah - may try to find out how much Mahshid knows about the further reaches of the Illuminationists and possibly drop that anecdote about the burning people to death if it looks like a) she doesn’t know that sort of thing is going on and b) she would disapprove if she did. Keris will use BOT as an ablative shield to show that... that she didn’t _mean_ to hurt anyone’s feelings, she was just making idle conversation!))

Keris chatters away, wrapped in Rathan’s graceful lies, and what comes out is... educational. 

When she drops the mention of burning and stonings, Mahshid looks sad. “It is really bad,” she agrees, nodding. “It’s just awful. But that’s what happens when people are too clingy to the ways of vain and selfish lesser spirits. I really wish we didn’t have to do this, but the ways of Heaven demand it. Creation was given to the Chosen of the Suns and the Moon by the true gods, and lesser jealous spirits deny that and demand worship for themselves.”

She looks out over the crowd. “They are jealous, spiteful things, the lesser gods - those of them who have grown too entitled in our absence. They would ask their followers to die rather than give up their ill-begotten worship. Even the corrupt, wicked Realm understands this. But I hope one day everyone will understand that only the true gods, the ones who dwell in the heavens, are to be worshipped. I hope that day’ll come soon. Putting the world to rights is an awful, messy business.”

Keris compares her mention of the world belonging to the chosen of the Suns and the Moons with how they were burning Calesco’s girls for being moon-worshippers, and comes up short.

((...))  
((Usagis and Kiris can be scary~))

It’s a good thing Keris has her mental groove of floral camouflage. It means that she doesn’t narrow her eyes, or bare her teeth, or do anything that Keris would but Cinnamon wouldn’t to such casual, uncompassionate hypocrisy. Instead she makes vague humming noises and changes the subject to congratulate Mahshid on her pregnancy, and escapes the conversation with Ney soon after.

“You really didn’t like that,” Ney observes softly once they’re safely ensconsed at the table stacked with delicious little snacks.

“Her wife is a moon-chosen,” Keris says, just as quiet. “And she didn’t blink at hearing how Kashma and Heba and Fatima were stoned and almost burned to death - for worshipping the moon. Did the moon stop being a true goddess between the start and the end of her sentence?”

Ney winces. “That’s one of the messy things about her silly faith,” he says, covering his mouth with his hand as he pops in a sweet treat. “Illuminationist books say that people should only worship the great gods - the suns, the moon, and the ladies of the stars. But northern Tairan folk-belief says the moon is a demon - prob’bly due to the long history of wars with Pershwa dating back long before the shahs, who are moon-worshippers.” He swallows. “Taira was always about three or four different nations held together by the shahs and their mercenaries from Harbourhead, who aren’t part of the silly wars here,” he says with an easy shrug. “The peasants never forgot they hated Pershwa and their moon-worshippers and their demon-summoning sorcerers.”

Keris allows herself a brief scowl, breaking the facade of Cinnamon for a moment as she considers the situation. “It sucks,” she mutters. “Old grudges and bloodshed. Urgh. So mired in the past.” Ney is, as far as Keris can tell, being honest there. It’s deeply depressing. And it’s something she’d never really thought of, though she was sort of aware of it from Xasan and why her mother came to Taira. Yes, Taira was an empire held together by the wealth of the shahs, their cataphract nobility, and their Harbourhead mercenaries. But now the wealth is split between the shahbanu who controls the river trade and Malra which has the silver, Malra is - through Ney - hiring the Harbourites, and the cataphract nobility are scattered into every side in the war.

Will Taira ever reunifiy, when the things which held it together are so divided?

Keris sighs. She glances over at Ney, evaluating.

“You know she’s their equal?” she asks, semi-rhetorically. “Not in status or scope, but in sheer internal power? She’s stronger than you. She’s stronger than me. I’ve only felt anything _as_ strong as her... twice?” She considers. “Thrice,” she amends, though honestly Adorjan was so far beyond Mahshid that the memory makes Keris shiver. “It wouldn’t help her in a fight, but it’s still terrifying to feel. But you can’t, can you? Like you couldn’t feel me.”

Ney rolls her eyes. “Gods, don’t tell her that. She’ll be insufferable. She says that the Midday Sun smiles on her and blesses her for each time they’ve tried to kill her.”

“I could believe it,” Keris mutters sullenly. “Both the blessings and the murder attempts.”

Clearing her throat, she shakes herself back into the Cinnamon groove. “So, where’s our fat friend the istandar?” she asks. “Or the naib, if he’s here and you want to point him out from a distance.”

But Keris is distracted. In among the voices of all the crowd, this rumbling crowd of dignitaries, she hears a voice she’s heard before. It’s a woman’s voice, and for a moment she can’t pin it down - but then it clicks.

Saha. The woman from Saha. Illana’s confident and likely lover. The one with the mysterious note. She’s here.

Keris frowns. What on earth is a godblood doing here who Keris last saw... her eyes flicker shut for a second as she tries to work out the distance between Saha and Malra. Whatever it is; it’s got to be a fair ways. Maybe Illana’s come here for trade? Vaguely plausible, she supposes - though urgh, that means this is going to be awkward. Leaning back casually to use Ney for cover, Keris scans the room for the woman, homing in on where her voice is coming from and what she’s saying.

She’s talking to a tall, thin, wiry man who stands above the crowd with electric blue hair. When Keris catches a glimpse of the woman herself, she’s dressed as one of the servants - simple cream clothing, a purple-lined headscarf hiding her blonde hair, a tray of food in hand.

“... no,” she says, “surely you don’t want him to keep on exceeding you?”

“Ha!” The man has his hands on his hips. “Of course he can’t keep on! I’m his destined rival!”

“Of course, of course. But wouldn’t it be an idea to keep an eye on Adami? He isn’t Malran, after all, and he’s not totally reliable.”

“Ney,” Keris murmurs quietly. “Someone’s talking about you, and not good things. Have any Nexan caravans come into the city recently, do you know? Maybe from the south?”

“No, the Nexan Guild isn’t allowed into the capital,” Ney says. “Why?”

“Mmm. Because there’s a godblooded woman I last saw with a Nexan merchant caravan down in Saha over there, talking to your ‘destined rival’ about how you’re not Malran and it would be a good idea to keep an eye on you.” Her eyes flash green for a moment as she tastes the woman’s essence again, refreshing her memory of that weak taste of watered-down divinity.

((o keris. u horrible little murder radar~))

Ney rolls his eyes. “Javad Norouzi is a boring idiot,” he says with a yawn. “Tall, blue hair, yes? He’s some air-aspected Malran twit who used to head up the scouts before I showed up. He challenges me about once every month. We’re standing at around 14-2 to me. And my only losses were when he challenged me at things when I was too tired and forfeited by not showing up.”

But Keris isn’t listening, because the woman doesn’t _sound_ like a weak godblood anymore. She tastes like a regular human.

“Ney,” she says again, more urgently this time. “Shit. She’s not a godblood. She’s mortal. Or... no, fuck.” She stands, dragging him back towards the edge of the room and keeping one ear trained on the woman. “She was godblooded last time I saw her. Sleeping with a Nexan moon-chosen I’d run into before - she was being nosy about the business I had with her. But now she tastes mortal. She can disguise her inner strength, like I can. That means she could be a lot more powerful than I first read her as. And she’s dressed as a servant.”

Ney straightens up, and Keris is reminded that when he doesn’t slouch, he’s a fair bit taller than her. “Where’s the woman?” he asks.

“Talking to Javad.” Keris nods towards the pair. “The servant with the food; blonde hair, purple headscarf - she was wearing one before, too, I think. She had some kind of... she was way too convincing when she was trying to be nosy about my business, last time. She might have other tricks.”

Ney looks at her as if she’s seeing things. “That’s a man, Kiss,” he says softly. “Not a woman. The one carrying the drinks tray, yes? Medium height, dark skin, dark hair.”

Keris stares back at him. “... no,” she says firmly. “She’s a woman. Blonde. Fair-skinned. Purple eyes. Headscarf. Are you... is she making you see her differently to me? Why? How?”

“You’re not lying,” Ney says, eyes narrowed. He quickly talks to someone else, and confirms they’re seeing a man as well. “So there’s something about you that means it isn’t affecting you. Or is only affecting you,” he says, frowning. He perks up. “This party has an interesting thing apart from you at it. How about we make this a little investigation? Or...” he sighs, “are you going to insist on finding out about the istandar?”

Keris narrows her eyes. “I want the istandar, yes,” she growls. “But until he shows up... well, I certainly wouldn’t mind figuring out who this woman is and what she’s doing here. This makes twice I’ve run into her now, and I’d like to know why.”

“Do you think she could recognise you on sight?” Ney asks softly.

“... damn. Yes,” Keris admits. “She’ll definitely remember me if she sees me again. I could disguise myself, but Mahshid’s already seen me with you.”

“Right.” Ney scowls. “Well, the istandar is over on the other side of the room. Over by the indoor fountain, talking to Nazanin Shervan - she’s a smith and someone must have dragged her away from her forge to get here, because she doesn’t like parties. She’s fire-dragon chosen - and when your eyes glint green, you can see those things. I’m sort of jealous. Don’t make a mess of him and hold off for at least a bit.” He flashes her a smile, but he’s clearly distracted. “I have a woman who’s good enough at disguising herself that she can fool me. I need to talk to her. Or at least steal something from her. Call it a matter of professional pride.”

Keris nods silently. “If you need help... I’ll be listening,” she promises. Then she steps back, away from Ney, and sets her sights towards the istandar. Pazyryk Lak. The slave-merchant and caravan-owner. Her mother’s last living killer, who still walks the earth.

Fangs concealed beneath painted lips; Maryam’s daughter pastes a sweet smile across her face and sashays towards her prey.

It seems like kilometres between Keris and the istandar. There’s always someone grey-haired and lavishly veiled in the way, always a couple flirting in the middle of the floor, always a sallow-skinned and sickly looking servant with a tray of glasses offering her a drink.

“Something for you, ma’am?” he asks.

Favouring him with a smile, Keris takes a glass off the tray that she has no real intentions of drinking, and swerves around him without further thought. Her mind is already reaching forwards; purring with glee, imagining what she’s going to do.

((OK, so at an ST level I’m kind of expecting a Hitman kinda thing here. Like, Keris trying to contrive a way to kill him without all the Exalts here finding it was her or maybe even finding it wasn’t an accident. :p ))  
((I’m planning to have her sashay up to him - and probably offer him the glass - and smile and flirt and look fascinating and interesting, and then lure him away to a private venue~ somewhere, possibly by means of sexy sexy promises or possibly by drugging his wine with a laxative.))  
((I’m also torn between strangling him to death like Maryam would - which is disguisable - and carving his heart out for a bangle to match her Kasseni one. Which is not.))  
((He would make a really good addition to her “people I really _hated_ ” bangle collection.))

The istandar Pazyryk Lak is talking to a short, stocky woman with obvious muscles. She doesn’t look very comfortable here. She must be Nazanin Shervan; the fire aspect.

“... and I did adore the ironwork for those new gates,” he says. “So beautiful, the way you carved those roses made them look like they were almost alive!”

“W-well, I didn’t actually carve them. You see, if you twist the metal just right when it’s red hot, and...”

“Oh spare me the details - I appreciate roses for their beauty.” He sips his juice.

On any other day, Keris would have entered the conversation with a comment that she’d love to hear the details. Elaborate metalwork and smithing artistry are things she could talk about all day, especially with an Exalt. Today, she barely glances at the woman before giving Pazyryk Lak a smoky-eyed look. “Istandar Lak,” she greets him with a perfectly appropriate dip. “How lovely to see you! I was hoping I might.”

The old man smoothes out his damp moustache with his fingers. “I beg your pardon, but you are?” he asks.

“Oh,” Keris covers painted lips with a hand and laughs embarrassedly. “I apologise. I’m Tenné Cinnamon - Commander Adami’s guest for the evening. He mentioned that there was perhaps no greater expert on the capital’s wonders and beauties than you; save of course the honoured naib.”

((Keris is being flattering and ego-stroking and suchlike, playing off what Ney has told her about how he prefers to live in the capital and likes his creature comforts.))

The istandar frowns. “... what is Adami playing at?” he says suspiciously. “What wretched prank is it this time?” He pauses. “Not that I mean offence to you, of course, but I cannot trust that man’s mind.”

Keris smiles ruefully. “I’ll admit, I did take that from some rather less complimentary things he said. But I’ve found that if you ignore most of his crassness, you can spot the things he can’t find a way to insult from the topics he leaves be. If I’m to be honest,” she adds, leaning in a little and letting her perfume waft towards him as she lowers her voice, “I think perhaps he feels humbled by the grandeur here and makes up for it by poking fun.”

He chuckles. “Well, perhaps. Maybe he’s just a western savage who hasn’t adapted to being in a more civilised place.” He hasn’t seemed to notice that Keris’ skin is closer in shade to Ney’s than his own.

((Ah, commiserating about Ney being an ass. An easy way to win friends with basically anyone in the capital. :P))

“He’s not th-that bad,” the woman says, blushing. “He makes me laugh.”

Keris raises an eyebrow at her. “Well, opinions do vary, and I’m sure he must have some wit,” she says breezily. “But come, istandar - this is my first time seeing Malra’s capital. What would you recommend as its best features?”

They speak on the topic for a while. He seems particularly fond of the art galleries the naib has founded, but also recommends the gardens she visited with Ney - “A place where young lovers go,” he says. The blacksmith heads off to get some food after a while, and he looks at Keris. “Are you hungry?” he asks. He looks around. “And where is Adami anyway? Did he send you here to distract me?”

Keris smiles at him innocently. “I haven’t seen him since he introduced me to the high priestess and her wife,” she shrugs. “He wandered off muttering something about stealing from someone to keep his reputation and left me to my own devices, I’m afraid.” As she glances around, there is something up with the crowd to Keris’ keen eye. It’s not quite moving right - the earlier energy is gone. It’s not as lively as it was. The wine they’re serving here must be strong.

“That does seem like him,” Lak says. “So, Lady Cinnamon, what bring you here from far-off Nexus? Not a Guilder, I hope?” He smiles, but it’s not entirely fake concern.

“No, no,” Keris reassures him, taking a sip of her own wine. _She_ doesn’t have to worry about how strong it is - if it’s plant-based, it’ll have as little effect on her as any plant-based poison. “No, I’m a courtesan - hence why I’m Adami’s escort for the night. Not that he seems interested in doing any escorting.” She rolls her eyes expressively, then flutters them. “I don’t suppose you could keep me company for the rest of the evening?”

It only takes a couple of sips for her to notice. The wine is diluted - not with water, or flavourings, but by something that has no flavour. No, that’s not true. It has flavour, but it is one that attacks the tongue, numbing it, so you taste nothing. And to Keris’ hyper-keen senses, the absence is something still and quiet and deathly cold.

Something that reminds her of the air in the lands of the Dead.

Her jaw tightens. Her eyes flick to the crowds where Ney no doubt hides - likely going after that purple _bitch_ who’s probably responsible for this, and then back to Lak. She pastes a smile onto her face.

“Say, a stroll outside, so you can point out some of those galleries from a balcony?” she suggests, strain invisible in her voice. “I confess; I don’t know my way around at all.”

“Well, I suppose...” he says - reluctant, but swayed by Keris’ ingenue air. It would be slightly ruined if he could hear Zanara and Eko giggling in her head. Both of them are clearly watching, rapt, from the tower.

There’s a sound of someone coughing, choking on something, then collapsing. At first it’s just one and there’s confusion, but then another person goes down. And another. And then the panic starts.

But Mahshid speaks, and her warm voice washes over the room. She’s not tall, but every eye is drawn to her. “Please, please, don’t be concerned!” she says and everyone can hear her. Her brow shimmers with golden light - a full circle.

Keris could almost believe her - if she couldn’t see the way the servant are quickly covering up the blackened faces of several of the guests.

Ney is beside the priestess. He’s frowning. Keris can hear his whisper of “It looks like poison. It might one of the assassins sent by the shahbanu. Some of them got away from me.”

“You said you got them all,” Mahshid says back, voice low and intense.

“I suspect those were the ones I was meant to catch. This one is good. We should stop them escaping. They’re a highly skilled killer to get in here.”

((Ney miiiiiiiight have skimped on that because he wanted to get back to Keris. :p ))  
((... fuuuuck. I thought I’d have longer before that happened.))  
((Hmm. If Keris had Szoreny medicine, she could no doubt do a lot of good here. As is... how effectively could she treat people with just FWT?))  
((Well, the first thing is that she has tasted it’s a tasteless, numbing poison - and her Occult is telling her that it’s probably paralysing the lungs too, just like it numbs the tongue, which is why their faces are turning black.))  
((So, she could probably do at least some good. Crap. Has Lak drunk any - is he showing any signs?))  
((Not as far as she can tell. Only a few of the people in the room are poisoned like this. And from what she knows of Malfean poisons, agents like this are incredibly rare and expensive, so there’s a good chance this isn’t some mass dosage.))  
((Fffffff-))  


Keris very nearly swears. Get revenge on the istandar. Treat the poisoned men and women. Track down the purple shapeshifting bitch who no doubt did this. All of them are things only she can do - oh, she has no doubt Ney will give it his best shot, but she’s the one who can see through purple-bitch’s disguise. And there may be other medics here, but none of them know what the poison is or how it works - not like her, now that she’s tasted it.

... plague and _rot_ , she’d really wanted to carve Lak’s heart out here and now. Add him to her bangle collection alongside Kasseni. But unless she _lets him go_ now, that’ll be impossible. And Keris _refuses_ to let him go. Not even to catch up and murder him later. To know that she had him and then let him walk away... mama would never forgive her. Never.

Well... at least she can still have the revenge she’d hoped for. And a deathly poison that chokes him to death? Oh yes. That feels very fitting for Maryam’s vengeance. Stepping closer to him, Keris assumes a distressed, determined look. “I may be able to help,” she confides. “But I’ll see you later for another conversation, hmm?”

Her hand slips smoothly down to where he’s holding his cup, and tips some of her poisoned wine into his juice. Then she’s away, in a whirl of braids and perfume, towards Mahshid and Ney and the choking victims.

As Keris walks away, she hears him drink. 

“Oh, well _done_ child,” Dulmea says in satisfaction. “That was _masterful_.”

‘Thank you,’ she thinks smugly. ‘And he’ll get added to the pile I’m treating, so I can gloat. But for now...’

She cuts through the crowd to Ney’s side. “It’s a necrotic poison,” she says without wasting any time. “Not tasteless, but it numbs the tongue and locks up the lungs. If you get the victims here, I might be able to help. Sunlight might help them too - light up your soul.”

“You’re sure?” Mahshid asks immediately. “I’ve called for the naib and he’s a doctor, but you know this right now? Do you know what’s been poisoned?”

“It was the wine - they tried to slip me some as well,” Keris says bluntly. “Probably because they didn’t expect me to be here and don’t want word getting back to Nexus. I’d bet they have people among the servants making sure their targets get the right drinks - something like this would be far too expensive for a mass dosing.” She catches Ney’s look. “Oh, don’t be stupid. _I’m_ not going to start choking. Assassinations are ten a penny back home; I noticed after the first two sips and got rid of it.”

Mahshid rises. “I’ll stop anyone from leaving,” she says. “We don’t want the assassin getting away! I won’t let anyone kill people at my parties!” And with that said, she hurries off.

“I wasn’t joking,” Keris says to Ney, kneeling down over the first victim. “Flare your soul - sunlight might help them. You’re looking for at least two servants - the one that dosed me was a pale guy who looked ill, and I bet madame headscarf is involved in this somehow. Make sure the victims get to me and I’ll do the best I can to keep them alive - and it’d be helpful if people couldn’t see exactly how I was doing it, if you understand me.”

“Who?” Ney asks. “Madame who?”

Keris blinks at him. “The... woman who we were talking about. Just earlier. In the purple headscarf? Looked like a man to you? You went off to pickpocket her?”

Ney frowns. “I...” He tilts his head. “I couldn’t find her,” he says, but he doesn’t sound confident about it. “I...” He takes a breath. “The woman disguised as a man. I couldn’t have talked to him, the one you said was actually a woman because she wasn’t there. But... I think we spoke. But...” He slaps the side of his head. “What the fuck is going on?” he mutters, as far as Keris is aware genuinely angry.

“Something’s fucking with your memories, she must have hit you with something,” mutters Keris, turning back to plunge root-tendrils into the throat and chest of her first patient. “Round up the servants to question and we can work out later. And get me my damn patients!”

((OK, what’s Keris doing to treat them and what Charms is she using? Do remember the aesthetics of whatever you do. :p ))  
((She’s using Flesh-Weaving Tendrils and strategic Excellency use to get as much of the poison as possible out and keep their lungs working... basically, her aim is “keep them alive and breathing until the naib gets there, because he’s a healer too and can afford to anima-flare and also spend longer treating them back to full health”. She just needs to make sure they’re alive for him to treat. And she’s doing her best to hide the fact that her fingers are turning into roots and plunging through their flesh to leech the poisons out and force their lungs to work, as well as being careful not to flare. Ney at least will hopefully help her hide the former.))  
((OK, Diff 6 Physique + Subterfuge roll to hide what she’s doing, then roll me Cog + Occult to try to treat people. Diff 5, and what she’s basically doing is triage to make them able to breathe on their own. Baseline of 15 minutes per person.))  
((Hiding roll: 5+5+2 stunt=12, can’t afford to spend Excellencies on it argh; 9 sux, yay.))  
((Do I roll separately for each patient or once for all of them?))  
((It’s one big dramatic action))  
((Cool. 3+5+2 stunt+8 Kimmy ExD {endlessly giving, patronage and kindness are real}=18. 15 sux, wheee~))  
((And my oh my is my mote pool starting to look shallow.))  
((Haneyl: “Sun Heart Furnace Soul, mama!”))

Keris falls back to simple, brutal expedience when it comes to triage. Thank god for the long dress Ney gave her. It lets her cover up her hands in its folds.

Because she’s sticking root-hands into their lungs and throats, and tearing out paralysed flesh and coaxing new growth. It’s literally rotting the inside of their lung, so she pulls it away and regrows it. It’s hard, hard draining work - and she asks Ney what each person she treats does so she can avoid saving slavers, but gods, she’s saving people.

The pulse of essence that knocks away her concentration is icy cold, and makes her shiver all the way down the back of her neck. There’s a woman’s scream. Mahshid. It’s a bubbling wet sound; the sound of someone stabbed in the lungs. Keris hears flesh tear open, flesh that was only concealing a horror within a mask of skin, and she whirls to see a towering black-robed figure with a mask made of moss and leather cast aside the body of the servant who gave her the drink.

Its other hand is protruding from Mahshid’s chest.

The monster has to be three, four metres tall, but gaunt and emaciated. Dripping, oozing claw-hands emerge from long sleeves coated in venom. Keris isn’t sure if this undead horror was male or female, but she can feel it’s one of the Greater Dead - and it’s just stuck its toxin-coated hand right through Mahshid’s back.

Mahshid is naive, hypocritical, blind to the suffering her religion incites and painfully sun-bright. Keris doesn’t like her much, and probably never will.

But she has a baby.

Keris drops any remaining pretence of subtlety, and explodes. Everyone looking directly at her is left blinded and stunned, and her latest patient goes flying away from her along with all the nearby furniture. A green circle burns on her forehead and red and silver afterimages trail behind her as she rockets through the air and brings her spear down on the monstrosity’s arm.

((Keris is popping Racing Vitaris to get there triple-speed and de-limb it to get Mahshid off. Then she’s getting Mahshid away and starting immediate triage work to save her life and the baby’s, leaving her wife and hopefully Ney to beat the monster’s face in. Since all attempts at staying undercover have been lost - and since frankly Mahshid is probably not in a good position to raise objections or notice anyway - she’s popping her caste mark.))

The arm comes away clean at the lower elbow. 

Mahshid doesn’t fall.

Instead, apocalyptic sunfire embraces her, a white-hot mandala of the sun illuminating the entire room. Keris screws her eyes shut, as she feels her face fry.

But she feels Mahshid draw back her fist. There’s a sonic boom. Then something giant and emaciated crashes into the far wall, shattering stone and marble. An icy gust blows in from outside. 

And Mahshid takes another step. And another one. Keris can hear her wheeze, hear the air blowing through the hole clean through her body, clean through shattered ribs and what might be a broken back.

She doesn’t care. Her hands sing of the burning sun and the snow in the air becomes rain. It is night, but a sun strides through the shattered room.

The monster tries to rise. It cannot, however, get up. Mahshid has shattered its bones like broken china.

“Gods dammit woman, let someone else kill it and lie down!” Keris screams at her, summoning her own red-and-silver whirlwind to compensate and scanning the room with green-glinting eyes for any other Dead things she’s missed. “You’re running on sunfire with a fucking great hole through you!”

Mahshid glares at Keris with eyes that burn with stellar fury, barely bound within the body of a mortal woman. “I’ve had worse,” she says simply. “Darkness has tried to kill me before. And what are _you?_ You who burn with the light of the Traitor Sun.”

“ _Fuck_ who I am; you haven’t had worse while you’re _pregnant!_ ” Keris snaps back, too high on adrenaline and fury to be intimidated. “I’m a _healer_ , you just _saw_ me treating your people; _lie down and stop making your injuries worse!_ ”

“The Midday Sun gives me strength,” Mahshid says, not even looking at Keris as she steps on and on towards the fallen monster. “That is all that there is and will be. I shall not rest. Until I have banished this corrupt servant. Of the false shahbanu.”

She steps forwards, walking upon sodden ground in puddles of meltwater. Reaching out, she lays her hands upon the black robe of the maimed Dead monster, which smoulders and melts.

And with a wrench, she lifts it up and brings it down, breaking its spine over her knee. It screams in agony.

“Urgh... fine!” Keris hisses, wondering where in the _hells_ Ney and Mahshid’s wife are. Spinning forwards, she summons her spear again and lashes out with it, calling on the spirit-flaying kiss of the Silent Wind to put an end to the beating as quickly as possible. Mahshid may not seem to care about her injuries - and perhaps she truly doesn’t feel them - but there are who-knows-what kind of poisons running through her veins and a gaping hole through her torso. Once she comes down from whatever sun-fuelled power she’s using to shrug her wounds off, her life will be at risk unless she _gets some fucking treatment_.

There’s a flutter of wings and suddenly the hulking Vakotan woman - Mahshid’s wife, Keris can’t recall her name - is in the way. “Back, hellspawn!” she hisses. She’s growing into immensity - taller than the Dead thing, at least. “Get away from her!”

And then Ney is there, between them. “Both of you, stand down!” he snaps, and the voice of military command is in his tone.

“Then _kill that thing so she can get treatment_ ,” Keris yells at him - at both of them. “What part of _baby plus hole through her ribcage_ is passing you by?!”

((Oh Keris. She is projecting a little bit. Ney can probably guess why. And poor Keris, too. She was _so close_ to getting away clean.))

The massive woman - glowing with silver light - rests one finger on Mahshid’s shoulder. “I’m here,” she says softly. And then she lifts up the Dead thing in both hands, and starts wringing it as a washerwoman might dry a rag.

“Wait,” Ney says. He leaps up onto her shoulder. “Not yet.” He addresses the monster. “Who sent you?”

The creature gasps, laughing wetly from behind its mask. “I swore... my oaths... to the crown... a long time ago,” it says. Its voice is so ruined and bubbling. “We... we will... we will never acknowledge... traitors.”

“So the shahbanu.”

“She is... the shahbanu. Your... your master... tried to kill her. She is just...”

“Yes, yes, the usual justifications from that murderess,” Ney says, yawning. “La la, anything new for me?”

The dying thing looks over at Keris. “So you... are... allied with Hell, now.” It chuckles weakly. “I... had heard rumours... from others that... was true. And do you think she’d let me speak. But... hah. Ha ha ha. If I told you what you want to know, you’d get quite a surprise. Come. Closer.”

Ney leans in. 

“The shahbanu is planning to-”

Keris feels time slow down. She sees the blue wisps form on the surface of the monster, sees the brand form on its mask.

And Ney clearly feels something too, as he leaps away just as it goes up like a torch, burning in ghostly blue flame.

“She won’t let me speak,” it croaks.

The lunar yelps and tosses the monster to the ground, where it convulses as the fires consume it. Until nothing at all is left.

Keris spares enough attention to spit at the stain left on the marble before turning on Mahshid. “That thing had toxins on its claws,” she rushes out. “Necrotic ones - more of what it put in the drinks and worse, I’d bet. They’re in your bloodstream, and while your power might be keeping you safe; I doubt it’s doing the same for your baby. Either _let me treat you_ or _get her to the naib_.” This second option she directs at Mahshid’s wife. “But whatever else you want to do, it can come _after the baby is safe_.”

The Vakotan woman nods, shrinking back down. She heads immediately over to Mahshid. “Come on, darling, my love, my heart,” she whispers. “Open your mouth.”

“Is it dead?”

“Yes, my love, it is.” She coughs something up, something squelchy and wet and organic, and gently pushes the - hairball? Ah, no, Keris recognises it from alchemy, it’s a bezoar - into her wife’s mouth, massaging her throat to help her swallow.

“I really hate it when you do that,” Mahshid whispers, a faint smile on her lips.

“And I hate it when you get hurt!” Miray, that was her name! - says. She’s crying. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d keep yourself safe!”

“This... just meant to be a party...”

“I can’t leave you alone for a minute!”

Ney shuffles up to Keris. “So, uh.” He coughs. “There’s going to be. Uh. Awkward questions.”

Keris drops her face into her hand and moans. “I was _done_ ,” she complains. “I was _finished_ , I was _out_ and ready to _go_.” She fists her hands in her hair. “I’d kept my cover _perfect_ and ended up ruining it just to save a woman who didn’t need _fucking saving_ , and now... and now...”

She starts to hyperventilate. If word of this spreads... god, the room is _full_ , the Dead thing said something about Hell; this could blow _the_ secret of the Infernals. If it gets back to Orange Blossom... fuck, fuck, _fuck_. “I shouldn’t have stepped in at all,” she hisses between gasps; tears pricking at her eyes.

((Poor Keris. Have a Compassion channel back for stepping in to save someone even you forgot Zeniths are associated with Resistance in canon.))  
((I mean, even if I’d remembered, she’d have done it. She didn’t think at all - she saw a pregnant woman impaled by a monster and lunged.))  
((Yes, she would have. Sigh. Keris is a hero when she doesn’t think about things.))  
((Incidentally, Ney is perfectly aware here that while Keris is _currently_ having a panic attack; any perceived threat to her children is going to flip all that leftover adrenaline back into murder mode again.))

“So, I think,” Ney says, “that it’s probably an idea for you to make yourself scarce while those two love birds act all sentimental.”

“I heard that, goatfucker!” Miray shouts at him.

“Is that so?” he calls back. “Yes, make yourself scarce,” he says softly. “There’s enough confusion here that... ah, things might become quite a muddle. And. La, la, the last thing I saw, the istandar was still breathing. But everyone treating the ill has run away. I hope he doesn’t get any worse.”

Keris nods jerkily and glances over at the man. Ney’s right. He’s on his last legs. She picks herself up and walks over to him, kneeling down beside him. His lips are black.

“My name,” she says quietly. “Is Keris. My mother’s name was Maryam. I had her for five years.”

She lays a hand on his chest as he struggles to breathe. “Five years,” she repeats softly. “And then the slavers came, and took her away from me. And when I finally tracked her down, she was dead. Because of _your_ caravans. Because _your_ men beat her almost to death for trying to get back to me, and then hung her the rest of the way. A daughter doesn’t rest, Pazyryk Lak, while her mother’s killer walks the earth.”

She looks down on him, eyes dark and hateful.

“Die gasping,” she finishes. “Like she did. Let that be my mother’s vengeance.”

And then, in a swirl of skirts and hair, she’s gone. 


	14. Chapter 14

Keris is gone, heading over the rooftops. There are some of Ney’s masked guards up here - and Keris can hear them before she sees them. 

She notes that he seems to be the only one around here who can train these superhuman warriors. Something to note. Superhuman as they are, though, they still don’t matter. Keris ignores them, save to the degree necessary to stay as far away as possible. Her cover is blown, and they don’t really matter. Even if they see her as she heads for the gaps between them; they can’t hope to keep up. She gives them the slip over the icy roofs, and pauses - not to get her breath back, but to think.

That... that had been a disaster. A _disaster_. Dammit! She’d almost been in the clear! And because she stepped in to save a woman who _didn’t need saving_ , she’ll probably have three Exalts gunning for her head once Mahshid is healed up and the naib is informed, along with the entire Reclamation if she’s blown the secret of the Infernals and it gets back to Orange Blossom.

Keris hisses, baring her teeth. This was a mistake. This whole, stupid... and the worst part is she’d do the same thing again if she was put in the situation a second time, not knowing if a pregnant woman under threat could fight back.

... at least mama is avenged. That’s something.

Now she just has to find papa and get the fuck out of this country before the high priestess of the Illumi-fucking-nation drops its military on her head.

At least Calesco is back when she finds her way back into Ney’s place. She doesn’t have to hunt her shapeshifting daughter through the streets. And as soon as she appears, Calesco is on her toes, knives appearing from her hair. She’s got the babies here, sleeping in their crib close to hand.

Those aren’t knives she had before, Keris notes - they look like they’re Malran. Clearly Calesco and Kuha went shopping. Or, uh, probably stealing, because Calesco _is_ her daughter.

“What happened, mama?” Calesco snaps. “I heard rumours of an attack on the palace and came straight back because I just had a gut feeling something bad was happening.”

“Everything was going perfectly until it all went to shit,” Keris groans. “The purple-headscarf bitch from Saha was there under some kind of weird disguise, and a Greater Dead thing from the shahbanu tried a mass poisoning and then impaled the high priestess through the chest while I was healing the victims.” She drops into a chair and puts her head in her hands. “And she was... fuck, I dunno; twelve months pregnant? Fourteen? Almost to the birth, at any rate. So I dropped subtlety and hacked its arm off, only apparently she _can_ handle herself in a fight because she beat it to death with a fucking great hole through her and then refused to lie down and get treatment for the _deadly necrotic poison_ it had soaked her bloodstream in until her wife made her.”

She can feel herself starting to hyperventilate again; her hands trembling. “So I’m outed as hellish in front of the _high priestess of the psychotic sun-worshippers_ here, who’s _stronger_ than me in raw force even if I’m a better killer, and her wife and probably the naib are gonna be coming after me too, and... _fuck_ , how did this go so wrong so fucking fast?”

“You did the right thing,” Calesco says fiercely. “Even if it led to bad things, it was still the right choice.” She gets to her feet, pacing back and forth. “We need to get out of here,” she decides. “Well, at least, everyone else does. I suspect you’re staying - at least until you find grandfather. That doesn’t matter. Between me and Rathan, I think only Ney could track us down. We won’t take the boat because there are too many watchers on the waterways. I can look Harbourite, Xasan _is_ Harbourite, Rathan and Oula can hide, and the girls are locals. We’ll head out west by foot - blend into the traffics. Rathan can distract attention and I’m here. You can find us because you can track us down - you can follow your heart just like I can.”

She pauses.

“We’ll have to leave most of the stuff we picked up behind,” she admits. “Sorry, mama. We’ll have to travel light. And I’ll need money, but I can steal it on route.”

Calesco takes a breath. “Now, what about the babies?” she asks gingerly.

((Calesco can operate as a replacement Keris in situations. :p))  
((Hmm. Keris can Offcast Mad Whimsy her 3-dot Principle about looking after the twins into the Gale she left, right? Which gives her (Principle rating) Spirit Charms, Enlightenment (rating) and an Urge to follow it, as well as making the Gale permanent. If she does so; does she reabsorb the Principle along with the Gale?))  
((Yes, that’s my thought. Re-absorbing a Gale that’s had OWM used on it restores it. And if the Gale dies, you lose the Principle.))

Keris bares her teeth. “The twins... ach, this isn’t going to work. They’ll fuss without me, and I’ll be too worried about them... okay, fuck it. I haven’t tried it with something this important before, but... where’s my Gale?”

A groan comes from the bed, and a mound of covers is kicked out of the way to reveal Keris’s other half. “I forgot how much harder they are to keep entertained when I’m not you,” she complains.

Keris rolls her eyes, walks over and kisses her, earning a surprise squeak. And the squeak becomes a thrashing yell as Keris exhales a blood-flecked wind into her lesser-self; pouring all her worry and fretting and focus and obsessive attention for the twins into the vessel of her Gale.

... wow. She hadn’t realised just how much she’d been freaking out over making sure they were safe, after seeing how close Mahshid’s baby came to getting hurt.

“Tha-that should, ah. Make you better at coping with them,” she stutters, a little dazed. “I hope. But yes. You need to get out of the city. Fast. Head west - there’s no point in going back up the Grey River, especially since it means passing Nexus again. I’ll finish things here and then catch up.”

The Other Keris nods. “Right! I’ll keep them safe!” she blurts out, words almost falling over themselves. She flexes her hands. “And I can _feel_ that in me. I feel more like me again. Uh, like you-me, that is. Oh... yes, yes, Dulmea, I know I’m babbling.” She pauses. “My Dulmea, not yours.”

Calesco smiles weakly. “All three of us have people in our heads right now,” she says, and then she’s back to being business. “It’s cold and it’s snowing outside,” she says. “This isn’t a good time to set out. But I think it’s probably urgent, right mama?” she says, directing it at Keris.

“Very,” Keris agrees. She hugs her daughter. “You and Rathan are going to be in joint command. She-me doesn’t have all my powers on hand, and she’ll be busy keeping the twins safe. And Rathan is good at distraction; but you’re the sneaky one. So it’ll be you getting everyone out of the city to safety, okay?” She kisses Calesco on the forehead, fierce and affectionate. “I know you can do it. Stay together. Be safe.”

“Right.” Calesco heads to the door. “I’ll go grab Rathan and you can tell him this too so he doesn’t argue about things.”

She returns a few minutes later with her brother, still blushing pinkly. “Mama, tell him why it matters that I had to barge into his room,” she insists. “Now, I’m going to grab the girls and Xasan and... uh, Oula once she gets dressed.”

“Mama is avenged,” Keris says hastily, hurrying over to hug Rathan. “But the gala turned into chaos. Someone tried to assassinate half the Malran nobles and the high priestess of the Illumination. A Greater Dead thing from the shahbanu, maybe working with someone else; it doesn’t matter. My cover got blown and they know I’m hellish now. As soon as she’s done healing from the fist-sized hole through her chest, she’ll be calling down the wrath of the sun on me and mine; which means you all need to get out of the city. You and Calesco are in charge. She’ll need you to help charm your way past any guards or provide distractions to sneak the group away.”

Rathan opens his mouth. Rathan closes his mouth. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. So it’s a good reason for Calesco to barge into my room.” He takes a deep breath. “At least we’re still mostly packed,” he says, trying to look on the bright side. “We’re not going by river, I bet. Calesco’s been complaining about how many watchers there are. This is going to be a hard journey, especially for everyone else. Me and Ouly might not feel the cold, but you all do.” He cracks his knuckles. “I was talking with Ney on the way here. I think we might want to take one of the cargo cable cars off this plateau. If we have the money, we can probably buy a small boat I can sail once we’re away from the main city.”

“Head west,” Keris advises. “There’s no point going all the way back through Taira and Terema then up the Grey River. If you can get to the coast, we have options, and I can find you anywhere. I’ll stay back to settle things here and buy you time to get away.” She kisses him on the forehead and both cheeks. “Work together and keep everyone from panicking, okay? Family against the world; you know how it goes. I trust you to get them to safety.”

“Right.” Rathan wraps Keris up in a hug. “Stay safe, mama. And don’t let these Illuminationist _bastards_ get you down. You saved their leader, no matter what they say. They’re just ungrateful.”

“I know, I know,” Keris says, settling a little. “And I don’t think Ney will turn on me. I just... doubt the priestess and the naib will feel the same way.”

((Oh, Keris. Honestly, the naib probably _will_ be favourably inclined to her. But she’s in panic mode, and she always underestimates how much ideology she absorbed from the Immaculates and then twisted from “Anathema are evil” to “everyone thinks I’m evil and will hate me if they find out what I am”.))

Keris slips out the house. There’s no sign of Ney yet, but then again that doesn’t mean much. Mind you, she thinks he’s broadly on her side. At least enough to understand she was trying to save Mahshid and he’s a stupidly smart observe-y sort. Now that Keris doesn’t have the nagging worry about her own children at the back of her head, she’s sort of aware that her worry about them pushed her into saving Mahshid for the sake of her child-to-be.

Now, she checks the addresses Ney got her. One here in the capital - the tutor for a rich family’s children. The other one, a freeman in a small town not too far from here. Given the state of affairs here, it might be an idea to check the tutor before the whole city locks down.

Squinting at the address and consulting her pitifully incomplete mental map of the city, she makes an educated guess and sets off towards... well, in Nexus she’d just head for the rich part of town, but in Malra _every_ part of town is a rich part. The probably-right part of town, then.

She throws a warm, heavy cloak over her shoulders and pulls the hood up before she goes, though. It’ll keep her shoulders warm in the tiger-dress she still hasn’t had the time to change out of, but more importantly it might give her a little leeway on being recognised if the hunt for her is already underway.

She could use her shadow to disguise herself, of course. But no. If she’s going to be seeing her father, Keris intends to do it as herself.

The weather is cold outside. It’s far icier inside Keris’ head. Dulmea has clearly been keeping quiet up until when Keris feels her children are safe.

“So.” The words clang like funereal bell. “What, exactly, do you think you were _playing at_ there?”

There’s no point in pretending she doesn’t know what Dulmea means. ‘I didn’t think,’ Keris admits. ‘I just reacted. If I’d known she could fight it off I’d have...’

She doesn’t finish ‘stayed put’, because she’s not entirely sure she would have done. ‘She was _pregnant_ ,’ she says instead, switching tracks. ‘And impaled by a monster. I was moving almost before I understood what I was seeing.’

“Her wife was right there. She called you a servant of the Traitor Sun. She’ll show you no gratitude. And of course,” her voice drips with sarcasm, “what were your orders, child? What were your orders about the need for secrecy that the demon princes have imposed on you? Please do not tell me you did this... this _stupidity_ to spite Orange Blossom?”

“She had a _baby!_ ” Keris hisses - aloud, though luckily nobody is close enough to hear. “I didn’t save her for _her_ , and I didn’t do it to spite anyone, I did it because the baby was completely helpless there! Even _she_ wasn’t thinking about protecting it! If _you_ had a child under threat from some horrible undead monster; would _you_ want people to just sit back and let it happen?”

She runs a shaking hand through her hair, knocking her hood back, then curses under her breath and hastily tugs it back up again. “I’ve been so on-edge about Kali and Ogin... I saw a baby at risk and I didn’t think. I acted on instinct. I’m not saying it was smart, but what else was I meant to do?”

“Think of your own children and how you - in the middle of enemy territory - needed to get home safely to them!” Dulmea snaps.

“I told you, I didn’t have _time_ to think!” Keris snaps back. Then she deflates. “I know. I _know_ , it was dumb and stupid and... fuck, everything was going _so perfectly_ up until then. One _stupid_ impulse...”

She shakes her head. “At least... maybe Ney’s theory will mollify them a bit, if he gets a chance to share it.”

“That strange woman was weakening him in front of his rival,” Dulmea says, more slowly. “I wonder how secure his position is. Hmm. Secure enough, in that the elite soldiers are his. Fortunate for them that he’s too lazy to want to rule.”

‘His problem, not mine,’ Keris dismisses. ‘I pointed her out to him because she got one over me in Saha, not because I have any intentions of getting involved in this war. And it’s a good thing I did; what the _hell_ kind of magic was she using? Disguises that don’t work on... on people she’s met before in her real face, maybe? Something that made him forget she was there until I reminded him? He’s annoying, but he’s really smart; and he _should_ be able to shrug off people doing things to his head. I don’t like that she managed it, even halfway.’

Eko barges in, breaking down the door with a clatter. Oh, oh, oh, she waves as Keris pushes through the crowds - moving slowly enough to avoid attention - maybe it is something to do with how Mama is from Hell! She wonders if Keris might’ve seen the illusion if she wrapped herself up in her adorable baby sister’s lies that she’s from Creation!

‘Hnn,’ Keris grunts. ‘Well, if we ever see her again, Rathan or Calesco could test that. But I’d rather avoid her in future. That invitation to Great Forks aside.’

Eko nods wisely. It would make sense to stab her to death and steal all her pretty things, she opines.

It’s not long before Keris finds the townhouse. It’s not as fine as Ney’s - nor is it as fine as the merchant princes of Nexus. Keris guesses these people aren’t fantastically rich - maybe they’re a minor government official or a well-off merchant.

There’s a wall around the front of the narrow property, but over the top of it Keris can see the lights are on. Pausing at its base, she closes her eyes and concentrates, listening hard to the sounds from within. There are voices upstairs - a man, a woman, three children - but there are also a separate set of voices lower down in the house, in an area that sounds like there’s several thick doors between there and the places with the others in. Hopping the wall with a quick dart up and over, Keris makes her way towards the second set of voices. She doesn’t care about the people who live here - only one of their servants, if it really is him.

With her hair and some of the thin wire lockpicks she wears as nominal hairpins, Keris picks the backdoor and lets herself in. It’s late enough that the crystal lights in here are low, and she stalks through the sweet-smelling surroundings. 

This is certainly not like how mine slaves live. Keris has seen these sorts of quarters - they’re more like how servants lived in Nexus. It’s clean, slightly sparse, and there are little signs of how people try to make places more comfortable - a rug here, a chalk board with what looks like a cleaning roster there.

The... servants? House-slaves? She can’t remember Ney had actually said if this Kallash was still a slave. But anyway, they have quarters on the second floor of the house, at the back. Not facing the street, she thinks cynically, and not blocking access to the gardens.

There’s several doors here. There are names on them. One of them is marked “Kallash”.

Hands trembling, she goes to open the door - then second-guesses herself, hesitates, and knocks softly instead.

There’s a grumbling noise, and a man in a nightshirt answers the door. He’s greying, with deep brown eyes and strong frown lines. There’s a strong smell of tobacco smoke as he opens the door - explained by the pipe in his hand. “Who are you?” he asks, looking Keris up and down. He sees her dress. “Milady,” he adds, judging by her standard of dress.

((... brown eyes : ( ))

Keris opens her mouth hesitantly, eyes flicking up and down him - at his arms and his build, which she remembers as the strong lines of a smith. At his face. At his eyes. No, this man has never held a hammer. His hands are soft, a scribe’s hands, and he’s skinny. And his face is nothing like hers, and Keris is almost certain her father’s eyes were like hers and Ali’s.

She sags a little, disappointed, and shakes her head.

“Nothing,” she says. “Never mind.”

She turns away, then hesitates. “The Jackal - Commander Adami - might come here later, asking about me. If he does, tell him I was here, and that I’ve moved on and left the city. You’re not the man I was looking for.” She pauses. “And tell him goodbye, for what it’s worth.”

The man, the wrong Kallash stares at her as she walks out. He doesn’t try to stop her. Why should he? He doesn’t know her. She doesn’t mean anything to him.

“Dammit,” boy-Zanara grumbles. “We should have known that a smith wouldn’t be a teacher. Did grandfather even know how to read?”

“Yes,” Keris says, with relative certainty. “He went to the market town to arrange for trade stuff, and he knew things about the spirits. I think he’s where I get my knack with occult stuff from - how I learned the little magics of locks and wards and stuff even as a dumb street rat.” She sniffs, and nods firmly. “And that means Papa was clever. Being a teacher wasn’t that big a leap. It just didn’t pan out here. So we go to the next place.”

“Oh, neat,” Zanara says. He sighs. “It’s a shame to leave this place behind. It’s awfully pretty. I kind of wish you’d had a chance to maybe talk to the naib about Ney’s offer. It’d be nice to get to make art here, especially if he’d pay a lot for it.”

“... it would,” Keris admits, hopping the wall again and setting off towards the edge of the city. She doesn’t bother being as stealthy this time - she’s leaving anyway, and only Ney can keep up with her of anything she’s seen from Malra so far. If anything, having a few of Ney’s commandos spot her heading for the nearby town will be beneficial; it’ll draw attention away from Rathan and Calesco and the others sneaking out of the city in a completely different direction.

“But, too late now,” she sighs as her hood blows back and her cloak flares out from her speed. “The priestess and her wife will be filling his ears with tales of demon monsters by now, and as much as Ney might like me; he’s an outsider they hired rather than the naib’s partner. And also better at annoying people than convincing them of things. Even if he speaks in my favour; it won’t help.”

Zanara begins to answer, but Keris’ attention is dragged away from her inner world by an all-too-familiar howl. 

Part hyena. Part lion. Part braying cattle. Part screaming woman.

It’s not very far away. No, it’s not. It’s just in the next district over, one of the wealthier ones.

Yes, Keris can taste the deathly rot in the noise.

“Fuck,” she mutters, and changes course. If mama is here...

Well. Papa has waited seventeen years, and no lives - including his, probably - will be in danger if he waits another few hours.

If Maryam is here, they will be.

The people still in the streets are confused, scared, milling around. They heard that howl. They don’t know what it is.

And when she gets closer to the location, it’s more than confusion. It’s terror. They’re fleeing.

Keris finds the first body soon after. They’ve been dead long enough that the smear of red from their half-eaten torso has become ice. No, wait. She remembers the cold that the howling yidak had brought with it. It’s not as intense as it was in the wilds - maybe because there’s something in this Solar-made city that weakens it - but she can feel the icy aura as she gets closer and closer. The canals freeze over. The roads are slick. There’s more blood, more bodies.

There’s an estate. A place nearly as nice as Ney’s. 

The kind of place an istandar might live, a voice in Keris’ head that sounds a little like Rathan says.

And the howl came from inside that estate.

“Mama!” Keris yells, flaring her soul out into a red-and-silver whirlwind again as she advances over the walls and roofs. Urgh. She’s already tired from unveiling it at the party - she’s going to crash once this is done, for sure. But she needs the strength now. If she’s going to stand up to her mother’s yidak; she may need even more than this.

The estate is a charnel house. Bodies, torn apart. Other bodies, choked and black-faced. The walls are slick with ice - filthy water pools on the floor. 

Water that retreats from Keris’ burning soul. And the air is all too thin - and bitingly cold.

Oh. Keris remembers this, from Buk Moi. Oh. How many died here? How many has her mother killed?

“How many servants did a house like this have?” Dulmea asks, voice soft. “A hundred? Two hundred? All killed by a murderous ghost. Or perhaps two.”

“Mama,” Keris whispers, horrified. “All this... where are you?”

She bares her teeth and raises her voice. “Where are you?! Come out! This is _wrong_ , mama! Come out here now! Show yourself!”

“Oh, Keris.” Maryam’s voice echoes from the depths of the house. “Come to give your mama a farewell kiss after you betrayed her? Do you want to come see me off?”

Her voice is liquid with rotting corruption. It’s not as strangled as it once seemed. And it’s stronger. Much stronger.

“Well, I suppose you’ve earned it. After all, you did a wonderful thing for me today, my darling girl.” Her voice shifts, thicker with contempt. “Even if you are a traitor who rolls over on her back for some sun-kissed goat-herder.”

((Necrotic Essence, E6))

Keris edges forward, tense. “I was always going to kill him for you, mama,” she says, working her way downstairs, her hair twitching nervously. “He died choking. Gasping for air that wouldn’t come. His tongue numb, his lips black, his lungs seizing. I made sure he knew your name as he died. Knew why.”

The stairs lead down - and down and down. More than one storey. More than two. They lead down into a poorly lit hollow space, where a faded dull red sun casts a light on an ancient ruined town. The stairs from the house lead down into carven steps on a cliff face, down and down and down.

There’s no way her mother’s voice should have come this far, Keris thinks as she sprints down a vertical wall. Down to the river of black coal and silver dust and human skulls that cuts this echoed memory of Malra in two. There’s buildings there, echo-buildings, but they’ve been ruined too. Smashed up. Wrecked - and recently, if she guesses.

This is the Underworld, Keris knows. Or can guess, at any rate. She doesn’t know how things work here. Bar that one brief time in Buk Moi, which barely counts; she’s never been here. It’s strange and alien territory, and her burning soul can only offer so much protection.

“Where are you, mama?” she asks again, eyeing the river with extreme wariness. “Where are you leading me? Please, just... come out. Let me see you.”

There are no other ghosts down here. This whole place is... dead. Deader than dead.

A bell rings. A ship’s bell. Keris follows it to a warehouse made from crudely layered stone. The air is freezing cold, and smells of blood and coal and hot metal.

There is a boat here - a boat smeared with the ectoplasm of its crew. Something snarls in here. Her mother’s yidak naps on the deck, curled up.

And there. There’s her mother - too tall, too thin, with needle claws and a face twisted into monstrosity. One of the Greater Dead. But still her mother.

“I could feel your blood moving around the city above, Keris,” Maryam says, in her twisted voice. She looks down at her daughter, more than twice her height. “This evening, I found a badly burned creature trying to regenerate down here in the depths. I could feel your blade on it. It was... too weak to fight me off, when,” she pats her yidak’s head, “my only true friend held it down for me. Thank you for that, Keris.”

((Aww fuck.))

“Mama,” Keris whispers, paling. She already knows, on some level, where this conversation is leading. But nonetheless, she can’t help but desperately push forward; ignoring her mother’s body language, the ominous foreboding saturating every second of the interaction. “Mama, the man who owned the caravan is dead. You’ve been avenged. You can-”

“I know. He’s dead.” Maryam smiles too widely, her lips and split mouth going all the way to her ears. “And so is his blood. There will be no heirs here, and if I missed one, they’ll not want the wealth of this estate. There were a lot of angry ghosts down here, Keris. The sun-chosen of Malra might have forced the ghosts out of their city, but all those spectres remembered and they hated down here.” She leans forwards, still smiling. “That anger is part of me now. I’ll keep their anger safe for them.” She licks her lips with a too-long tongue. “I am all their anger now.”

“You... your vengeance is done, though,” Keris manages in a small voice; eyes wide. “You could... you could pass on into Lethe. Let go of all the hate and rage. Be at peace. I thought... Xasan said that’s what a daughter’s vengeance was for. To avenge the murder so her mother’s spirit could rest.”

“So he just wants me to _go away_? Is that it?” Maryam spits. “Go away and be forgotten? What kind of brother does that?”

The words hang in the air.

She locks bulging, bloated eyes on Keris. The air is rich and coppery. “You’ve seen this rotten place. I’m not going to rest. I’m not going to go away. I’m not going to let them _forget me_.”

“No! No no no, Xasan didn’t... he wasn’t talking about you, I just... maybe I didn’t understand...” Keris babbles, waving her hands. “He never betrayed you, ever, even when I was being disobedient and... please don’t hate Xasan, mama, please.”

“Stop.” Maryam raises a clawed hand. “I’m not done here. But I’m done with you. Go. Live out your life in peace. And don’t get in the way of my revenge.” 

She strides over to the side of the boat with too-long, too-many-kneed legs, and leans over the side. 

“I will not rest until I have vengeance for me, and for every murdered slave. Until the shining golden lords of this place know what it is like to lose everyone you love. Until they only have ashes to eat and only tears to drink. I will not rest until the last thing these fat, rich bastards feel is my hands,” her nails click together, “around their necks.”

And with that said, she cuts the rope. The current is swift and hungry, and carries the barge away. The yidak shifts, growling. 

“Goodbye, Keris,” her mother said, drifting away down this river of coal and silver dust. There are bones in this not-water, Keris realises, the bones of mangled, crushed miners. “I am leaving. Don’t follow me. If you will not get me my revenge, I’ll do it myself. Just... leave.”

((Aww, _fuck_.))  
((So, Keris can - what, jump onto the boat before it’s too far away, or let her go?))  
((Yes. Or I suppose try to sink the boat - but regardless, acting against her is likely to count as betrayal for MBD. She’s been very clear - she wants to be left to go.))  
((Yes. And it’s 4wp to suppress MBD. Ouch.))  
((Yep. And Keris is already exhausted.))  
((But on the other hand, if Keris doesn’t stand up to her now, Maryam will always, always hang over her.))  
((Blaaaargh. Fuck it. Let’s go.))

The boat is moving away quickly. Keris only has a moment - less than that. Seconds. She could let her mother go. So very easily. Let her go, having avenged her, having indirectly empowered her, having been thanked and almost praised. Let her go, to work against slavery, and then leave with her blessing to live out her own life in peace.

It would be so, so easy. And in the state she’s in now - already tired, with a headache looming just from brushing against the thought rising up from the back of her mind and the implacable wall in front of it - doing otherwise would be so, so hard.

Keris snaps out an arm, and her spear unfolds in a flash of red lightning and silver chain. The weighted ball wraps twice around the mast, and Keris digs her feet into the cold stone floor and heaves.

“ _We’re not done yet_ ,” she snarls through gritted teeth, her hair coiling out behind her to punch into the wall and anchor her. Muscles bunching in her arms and shoulders, she starts to haul the boat back in, against the current.

((Spend WP, take Limit to act against MBD - you’re now free from it for the rest of the scene. And the base Phys + Athletics to pull a boat is like pulling a fully laden wagon - 9, but the current adds 2 to it, to 11.))  
((Keris has that natively from the stunt - 5+5+2. WP and Limit noted. Oh, Keris. She’s racking up more Limit without the ability to bleed it via Dulmea.))

Keris strains. Wood shrieks. The framework of the warehouse protests, shedding dust from the stone walls. The boat’s hull scrapes against the coal and silver dust, and the mask groans.

“No!” Maryam screams. “Keris, damn you! Listen to your mother!”

Blazing at the heart of a crimson whirlwind flecked with silver shards; Keris pulls the boat in hand by hand. “I _have_ been listening to you,” she growls, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve been listening ever since I found you! I followed you! I avenged you! I let...” she chokes for a second, “I let you hurt me, and never even tried to stop you! But if I let you go now, it won’t be me that suffers! Whatever you might do to the slavers here; you’ll kill innocents too! The servants and slaves up there didn’t deserve to die!”

As the boat pulls up flush with the dock, she turns and slams her spear into the ground; the supernal blade cutting deep, deep into the stone. With the chain wound tight around the mast, the ship isn’t moving off again easily until it’s dislodged.

Very deliberately, Keris steps forward and puts herself between Maryam and her improvised piling.

((Are you using WWI to set the ship on fire and drop her into the river?))  
((Not until she steps off to try and knock Keris back, because I don’t trust her not to accept the mutations and swim away if she’s already in there.))  
((Oh, though actually, it’s not instant, so Keris could hit the boat now that it’s against the dock and force Maryam to step off as it burns.))  
((Well, I’ll see what she does first.))

Maryam takes a deep breath, wheezing, and steps towards her yidak. She bends down, and presses her rotting, too-wide lips to its furred head.

“Let me go, Keris,” she orders, stepping up the mask. “Let me get the revenge we all need. Why are you _defending these slavers_? Do you love them more than me?”

((Channeling Passion on Per + Pres roll to guilt Keris into letting her go 13+5 - 12 successes. Lot of tens, lol.))  
((Spending 1wp to ignore the plea. Oh, Keris. This is agony for her.))

Still crying, Keris shakes her head. “I c-can’t,” she forces out, voice cracking. “I’m not... I’m not defending them. I-I’m defending the innocents you’ll kill. I made a promise.”

Her spear is stuck anchoring the ship. The twin kris-blades of Ascending Air drop into her hands instead, and she swipes at the hull. Green fire licks from the wound, spreading fast.

“Kill!” Maryam snaps, and her yidak turns from a sleeping hound to a curled spring, pouncing on Keris. Maryam, meanwhile, sticks her claws into the mast, tearing at it. Her claws are stronger than steel and she shears right through it. The boat - burning green from the slashes - is caught up in the current and torn away downstream.

But Keris has another problem, and it’s a lion-hyena-ox-woman that’s right in her face, snarling and dripping bloody ichor from its wide jaws.

((OK, into quest mode? Or do you want to resolve it conventionally? :p ))  
((Hahaha quest mode are you even kidding. And... oh, Maryam. She’s going downstream in a burning boat that’s going to dump her in the water.))  
((GEE I’M SURE THAT WON’T COME BACK TO BITE ME.))  
((POSSIBLY WITH RAT’S GHOST ALONGSIDE HER WHY NOT?))  
((OK, so, the yidak is going to try to claw the fuck out of Keris. What’s Keris’ approach and what are her objectives for this phase of the fight?))  
((Hmm. Okay, so at an OOC level I want Keris to subdue it and then, uh, carve its heart out and seal it into a gemstone. IC... sigh. It may be that she’s so low on WP now that she can’t bring herself to actually _kill_ her mother - and unfortunately she does see the yidak as her mother. Sealing it she can just about manage with enough self-justification that it’s not really all the way _dead_ dead, but damning it oblivion she can’t do.))  
((In which case her initial approach is going to be to try to subdue it nonlethally, and since I suspect that won’t work, once it does anything more than shallow damage to her she’ll hit the “I can’t deal with this and am retreating to my own po” button and go snek.))  
((Sigh, and if she’s planning it for Kerisa's rebirth, she’s saving her mother to help a bit of her live on.))  
((OK, well, the yidak, glutted on souls, is trying to Phys + Melee claw her to death. Keris is trying to... hmm, poison/heavy chain ball it unconscious? Which is also Phys + Melee.))

Yelping, Keris goes into a backwards roll on instinct alone; feet finding the underbelly of the yidak and propelling it further on over her in the direction it was already going. She grabs her spear as she comes up, just in time to meet its jaws as it goes in for another mauling.

Maryam is getting away - or dooming herself; rushing down the rivers of death on a burning boat that won’t last more than a minute longer. But Keris can’t do anything about that now. She’s got her hands full surviving. With the blunted ball and the flexible links of the chain she hammers the yidak, snaring its limbs, dosing it with soporific venoms, bruising and battering it.

But whenever the glinting, razor-sharp spearhead turns its way... she hesitates. She can’t bring herself to do it. Not now that she knows who this is. She might oppose her mother, but she can’t bring herself to kill her - to dissolve her soul and unmake it entirely.

The yidak, unfortunately, has no such qualms. And in the spacious but still fundamentally limited confines of the warehouse, Keris can’t get enough distance to outpace it. Leading it back up into Creation isn’t even an option.

((5+5+2 stunt+5 Malfeas ExSux (lol she literally can’t use Adorjan for this unless she’s doing it to kill)=12. 3+5=8 sux. And probably some form of external penalty from the fact that she’s trying to fight non-lethally.))  
((Meanwhile the beast gets... lol. 13 successes on 16 dice. [ **10 10 10** 9 8 8 8 7 7 7 6 4 3 3 3 1]. And yes, Keris was at -2 external. Rolling the 7 difference as lethal damage; 4L dealt.))

Keris can’t fight this monster with human eyes. Not like she wants to. And while she draws on the hellish might of the Demon King, the yidak fights... it fights like she does.

Bringing the weighted ball around, she shatters stone and sends a spray of sharp stones. The beast doesn’t care about that, as it nimbly ducks the weighted ball, and - claws shrieking on the dock - turns on a yen. Keris’ dress is something she’s not used to, and it’s not familiar to her. 

She’s just a fraction too slow, and it lunges in with bone crunching fangs. She screams as it bites down on her side, yanking her off her feet, and tosses her around like a dog with a chew toy. The pain is red hot needles in her side. Her hair flails wildly, tearing up the planking as she tries to find something to latch onto.

With a snarl of her own, Keris opens up a mouth around where it’s biting her, and teeth jut into the sensitive places of the yidak’s mouth. It lets go of her, and she goes flying to hit the wall. She dents it, forcing all the air from her lungs, and her blood splatters the fractured stone. Dropping down she nearly falls, but her hair catches her.

Her side hurts badly. She holds it shut with her hair until the wound closes up, but every time she tries to twist left, there’s another warning throb of pain. Her left arm screams every time she tries to move it too quickly. And she thinks her ribcage down that side is broken. Maybe even a punctured lung. She’d... she’d be in a lot of trouble if she had to breathe.

The beast shakes its head, trying to get rid of the pain in its mouth, and it hisses at her - more like a snake than anything that makes it up. Keeping low, it seems to be thinking - if it can. Its prey can hurt its mouth. Licking its lips, it wets its muzzle with Keris’ blood.

Maryam doesn’t say a thing as she watches, but she’s rapt with attention towards the fight as the current carries her away. She hasn’t seen the green flames licking around the holes in the hull of the boat.

Injured, exhausted, assaulted in both mind and body, Keris braces herself for the next lunge with a fatalistic air. For a moment, she despairs. She can’t do this. She can’t fight her mama. She can’t. She just... can’t.

Silver feathers rustle in the back of her mind. Slitted eyes narrow, and curving fangs bare themselves. As Keris’s will falters and her resolve and courage fail, the thing in the back of her mind emerges, coils sliding over one another as it surges upwards from the depths where it slumbers.

Keris can’t win this fight alone. She can’t _fight_ this fight alone.

But just as Maryam isn’t alone, neither is she. Not really. Not ever.

The yidak lunges again, gore-stained jaws gaping wide.

And as cloth tears and red bleeds to white and skin disappears under feathers, it closes them on a mouthful of razors.

((Pushed waaaay beyond her limits; Keris hits the Pekhijira button.))  
((OK, another contested roll. What is Keris trying for here?))  
((Same thing she did with Lei Mei - pin it down in her coils and constrict/poison/razor-feather it into submission. She’s wise to its “sacrifice a limb” trick, but she’s betting it can’t do that with the main body grappled.))  
((OK, contested Phys + Melee again. This time Keris has a +3 stunt for being really cool about things.))  
((... shit, at this point I think we are just writing thinly veiled NN fanfic, considering Keris has just used her Res to fight off this powerful ghost.))  
((Lol, ikr. 5+5+3 Wild Alleycat+3 stunt+9 Shintai dice=25. And hah, lol. Snarling Lower-Soul means it has to pass a Valor check to attack her - and it’s a coward. Eeegh, only 9 sux. Dammit dice fairies. Hopefully the penalty the yidak is under from Keris being Very Scary will handicap it too much to beat that.))  
((OK, well, it passed its Valour 1 check, lol. And it got... 8 successes. But Keris wasn’t fighting to hurt it, she was fighting to trap it and lock it down.))

It flinches. That’s maybe the only thing that saves Keris, because it’s still far too fast for something that size - and it’s much more dangerous than Lei Mei. It’s a hardened hunter and killer.

Pekhijira doesn’t respect it for that, though. She’s far too much of a monster to huff approvingly for the fact her mother’s lower soul - perhaps something she was born from - is very much akin to her.

So instead Pekhijira and Keris rear up, and as the yidak, snarling, tries to bite at Keris, she loops herself around it, forcing down the pain of her side.

((Also, next time remember to account for wound penalties))

Her feathers are like sandpaper and razor blades, her coils can crush rocks. And now she’s looped around it and she’s squeezing. Bones protest.

Maryam is just watching. She’s not calling out to help it. And Keris sees something terrible in her mother’s eyes, even at the range as she’s carried away on a ship that’s burning green.

She doesn’t care about her yidak. Doesn’t love it. It’s just another tool for her. She’s sacrificing it to get away from Keris.

But there’s something she does care about, because she’s just seen the fire. “Keris!” she shouts out, as the boat carries her away. “Keris, help! Help me!” She dashes over the surface, looking at both sides - but she’s in the middle of the river now, and the fire is on the deck The barge is lower in the coal-dust water, and there’s not even a sail anymore. “Help me! Your mother!”

“Mama!” Keris screams at her, grabbing at her spear, sending the chain whipping out again. But it’s too short - far, far too short. She can only watch. “Mama, no!”

((OK, so the yidak is going to try to break free. Keris is going for an incapacitating crush. So its going Phys + Ath and spending everything it can to try to escape, while Keris needs to choose what to do and will be taking distracting penalties if she lets her mother distract her.))  
((Oh, Keris. Yeah, she’s going to focus on keeping it trapped so it can’t hurt her anymore and be unable to do anything but watch in horror as Maryam’s barge sinks. She won’t dive into the river, not even for her mama. She’s too much a survivor; too scared of death and the Dead - and she’s already suppressed MBD for this scene.))  
((OK, Keris Phys + Melee, vs its Phys + Ath + 6 Ex D + Survive Principle 5. 21 dice. 8 successes.))  
((5+5+3 Wild Alleycat+2 stunt-2 wound+9 Shintai=22. Ooo, this could be very close. Oooor not, because Keris might decide to roll 16 successes and thus handily win even _with_ Maryam’s external distraction penalties.))

All Keris can do is watch. She watches as the boat is consumed, as her mother backs further and further into the tiny fragments left. She watches as her mother tries to use the mast as a paddle to pole towards shore - anything to avoid the water. And she watches as her mother screams, because the river burns her like acid.

Down she goes, carried with the current. “Keris, help!” she screams at first. She tries to swim. She tries to fight the current. Her legs kick and dust flies up into the air as she tries to swim through this quicksand of coal dust and silver and bone and-

And it’s washing her away. The colour is bleeding from her, leaving her as black as the dust. Her features are melting. First time her head goes under, she stops screaming Keris’ name and just screams, a wordless sound of a melted tongue.

There’s a breaking of bones as Keris’ coils crush the yidak’s ribs, but she’s barely paying attention. She just watches and watches and watches.

Then eventually her mother’s head goes below the surface, and doesn’t come back up again. She was close, though. So close. Maybe ten metres from shore.

Keris watches, waiting for a monster to come shrieking out of the unnatural river, but none does.

That’s it. The end. Her mother is gone. Screaming for her help, and Keris didn’t do a thing. Screaming in a river of Death where Keris sank her boat.

Numbness... ah, numbness would be a sweet relief. It would be wonderful to feel numbness right now. To have the understanding of what just happened delayed; put off until she could break down properly.

But Keris is one with her po at the moment. The seat of her emotion is not so easily divorced from her conscious mind when they share a body. So she stares, eyes wide and horrified, for only a moment as the yidak goes still in her coils.

And then she screams. She screams; a tortured, keening wail that is utterly inhuman in pitch and volume and yet _entirely_ human in heartfelt emotion. A sound that pours all of the horror and grief and pain and loss she feels out into the air to rip at eardrums and chill the blood. A cry that echoes up the stairs, bouncing off cold stone and hollow spaces and the bloodsoaked walls of the charnel house above to echo out even into Creation; as her mother’s voice had when she arrived.

((This is basically for that awesome scene where Ney and whoever else has assembled have just got to the scene and they hear this sound of utter devastation echoing up (if it takes them a while to get there, it took a while to echo up into Creation), and a little while later Keris comes up looking wounded and small and broken.))  
((... heh. Just to see how effective it is; Per+Exp=4+5+2 stunt+1 Firebrand Demagogue+3 I Love My Family+9 Kimmy ExD {self-defined victim, shameful truths, ugliness beyond imagining}=24. Oooph. 15 sux. Keris r very sad. :c))

The broken sobbing lasts... she doesn’t know. Time disappears into the blur of pain. But at some point she looks up at the limp form caught in her coils, and remembers its existence.

Mama. Half of her still exists. She can’t... she can’t kill her. Not this part too. Not now. She _can’t_.

“Kerisa,” Zanara whispers. Or is it Eko miming about the little ghost? Dulmea? Some voice in her head, anyway. It doesn’t matter which one. They’re right. She can give mama another chance. Ensure this soul gets reborn in a body she can care for. That she can make amends to.

She just needs to be able to transport it. And... and it’s not really _killing_ , is it? Lei Mei still exists, in some form. And unlike the snake-demon, this will only be a temporary sealing. Until Keris can give her life again.

Bending down over the bloodied corpus, tears still falling, Keris readies her spear.

Up above, in Creation, Ney Adami hears the howl echo out from the depths. It’s Kiss. But of course, he can’t just go there immediately. He’s busy deflecting, dissembling, misleading and generally avoiding answering hard questions.

But eventually he gets away, when the excuse comes. And then finds himself facing even more deaths in the city. He suddenly feels a cold dread when he hears that it was the istandar’s places that were attacked, and doubly so when he reads the reports of the bodies.

He sets off with his hand-picked best, and arrives just in time to see Keris appear. She’s a mess. Her dress is tatters and covering nearly nothing. It’s certainly not covering the massive brand new wound on her left side or the way she’s using her hair in place of a compression bandage. She’s got her spear in hand, using it as a walking stick, while in her other hand she’s holding a chunk of crudely formed black mineral that gleams red in the light. Her eyes look empty. She shuffles along with none of the grace or poise or speed she normally moves with. She’s obviously been crying as well as fighting, and looks like she might start again at a moment’s notice.

She peters to a halt as she emerges into the open, shoulders sagging, hair limp behind her where it isn’t holding her wound shut.

She looks lost.

Ney nods. He doesn’t need to say a thing. He recognises those teeth marks. He reaches into his pouch, and produces a hip flask. “Drink it or use it to clean those wounds; it’s good for both,” he says, tossing it to her.

It’s a mark of just how out of it Keris is that she barely catches it; hands fumbling it once before getting a proper grip. She stares blankly at him a moment longer, before the instruction seems to click and she glances down at her wound. Slowly and clumsily, she sets about applying it, flinching in pain at the sting but making no sound. The tears return, though, rolling down her empty face dripping onto the tattered remains of her dress.

It’s a good few minutes before she speaks. She doesn’t even seem to notice his commandos.

“What are you going to do?” she asks quietly. Her voice is raw and hoarse.

“Well, I mean, you just killed a malicious ghost that’s been murdering travellers on the eastern border for a decade,” Ney says. “And you fought to save the high priestess from an assassin. And you helped me try to track some kind of secret spy who can disguise themselves so well even I can’t tell the difference. And I’ve been watching you, and from all evidence I’ve picked up you haven’t been worshipping spirits or demon princes.” He shrugs. “The worst crimes you’ve got up to since you got here have been some petty theft, travelling with false documents, and... uh, beating three of my elite troops senseless but not killing them.

“So, all in all, I don’t really have any reason to try to stop you or arrest you. You’re a law abiding traveller, except for a few minor crimes that aren’t worth making a fuss over.”

Keris makes a slight motion with her head. It could be a nod, maybe. “What are _they_ going to do? The naib and the priestess?”

“Well,” Ney smiles grimly, “Mashy is going to have her wife sitting on her if she tries to leave bed before she has the baby. And if Taym gets too much of an ass about things, I’ll just go find work elsewhere. Like I told you Kiss, I work for him because he pays me. And my Blades work for _me_. We’re Harbourites. He pays us; he doesn’t own us. I don’t want to ‘cause this is a nice comfy job, but if he forgets it, I might have to remind him.”

This time it’s definitely a nod. But then Keris seems to crumple.

“Ney,” she breathes. “What do _I_ do? I... I killed...” She clutches the chunk of black stone to her chest. “I just. _Watched_. The boat went down, and I- I couldn’t... I didn’t even _warn_ her, I thought...” Face twisting in pain and self-loathing, she curls in on herself. “What kind of daughter am I?” she finishes in an agonised whimper.

Ney rubs the back of his neck. “I guess she wouldn’t have told you, would she?” he mutters. “Kiss, if a daughter gets revenge for her mother and the mother doesn’t pass on, it’s then her duty to go to the priests and help them get rid of the mad ghost. That’s the flip side. It’s how we do things. We get revenge - and then it’s _done_. It’s settled.” He sighs. “That’s why we’re not mad like Taira is. They just don’t let things go like we do.”

Eko nods. Keris and her both have more of Harbourhead in them than they knew, she indicates. It’s like she says; Eko and the Ruin keep the world moving and stop it stagnating.

((ney is teriblu and doesn’t realise when keris needs a hug~))  
((He’s a little worried of making her mad. She can probably tell he’s wary of her, especially since she’s scary.))  
((Heh. Fair enough. Hmm. Does she still have Snarling Lower-Soul active? Probably not, since it’s been a scene transition and her Resurre- uh, I mean her Shintai has reverted. :V))  
((... that said, Keris is admittedly pretty scary regardless.))  
((If she approaches him, he’ll be fine, but he can tell she’s on edge.))

Keris thinks about this for a while. “... papa,” she murmurs eventually. “I was going to look for papa. In the other town.”

Ney nods. “I sort of guessed you’d be off,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “My servants told me your lot departed quickly. I mean, I could probably work out where they’re going, but I haven’t done that yet. If you want me to give them an escort of my guards to keep trouble away, I could. Otherwise,” he takes a guarded, wary step forwards. “What’s up, Kiss? Are you... are you feeling all right? Can I get closer without you gutting me with that scary spear of yours?”

After a worrying moment of uncertainty, her grip on the spear slackens and she nods again. As soon as he touches her - cautiously, as one might touch a wounded wild animal - she makes a hurt little sound and leans into it, burrowing into his solidity and support.

“There there,” he says. “It bit me too. You’re probably hurting in the body too, as well as... you know, in the heart.” He wraps his arms around her - except he’s really more testing her body. “And you’ve got a punctured lung, from the sound of it! Kiss, you’re only a bit better off than Mashy! I really should sit on you just like Miray and not let you out of bed until you’ve healed! But... but I suppose I can’t change your mind.”

She shakes her head. “Been hurt worse,” she mutters into his shoulder. “It’ll heal. Need to find papa. Save _something_.”

Ney sighs. “Yeah, I can’t talk you out of it,” he says reluctantly. “Well, are you coming back to my place at least, once you’ve done what you need to do? You need some rest. Plus,” he smiles sadly, “you’ve torn up my dress. I’ll need to give you a new one. As a going away present. And...” he trails away.

((Yeah, we can assume that... I mean, honestly, at this point Keris is well past 10 hours of strenuous activity, when she’s only actually good for 8, and on top of that is down to literally 1wp remaining and something like 5 points of Limit.))  
((poor Kiss))  
((If Ney wants to accompany her to the town where possibly-Kallash is and then coax her back to his place to rest for at least a night before setting off, he can probably talk his way into it by simple dint of her literally not having the energy to argue. She’s in her semi-torment state of being easily guided anyway.))

Ney strides back and forth. The snow settles in his dark hair. “I’m not going to let you go alone,” he decides. “You’ve got a punctured lung, and if you collapse then someone needs to lug your body back to my place and find someone who can treat your weird body. So I might as well come along with you. Just to be sure.” He smiles grimly. “Plus, considering what happens when someone sets you off, I think it’s better that I can be there to stop you getting into a stupid fight with the naib or whatever.”

“... you won’t interfere,” Keris states after a few more moments of sluggish thought. Arguing with him would require far, far more energy than she can summon. It’s an effort just to muster a condition. “Lemme do it myself. Talking to him.”

Ney rolls his shoulders. “Hey, I’m just here as your watchdog,” he says. “It’d be way too much effort to interfere in your family drama, Kiss. That OK with you?”

She nods tiredly, and gets lost in staring at the chunk of black-glittering ore and its malevolent red tint for a moment. It takes a shake of her head to snap out of it, and she shrugs with her right shoulder. “Fine. C’mon.”

At least when she runs, her side doesn’t hurt so much. Ney leads her north, running along one of the raised canals, until they’re away from the bright crystal lights of the capital. There’s now a raise in the way, but the light pollution from the city paints the sky, illuminating all the gently drifting snowflakes.

And here’s the town. It’s a smallish place, of perhaps five hundred souls, and it clearly exists for one reason; to maintain the canalboats. The newly built drydocks and warehouses at the centre of town overshadow the old village. The houses here are better than they were in Baisha - there’s crystal lighting inside them. Of course, that might be a mixed blessing, because the lights are still on at the docks and Keris can hear the sound of hammering and sawing and a hubbub of professional talk.

“I didn’t actually go here,” Ney admits to Keris. “I just grabbed the paperwork. I was kind of rushed when looking up these things.”

Keris looks down at herself, realising for the first time what kind of a state she’s in and drawing her arms around herself. Plunging an arm into her hair, she comes back with another thick cloak to replace the one she lost to the yidak and her own transformation, down in the Underworld.

It’s a spare. Not as good. But it serves to give her modesty and cover her head as she advances down into the town.

“Where?” she murmurs. “Do you know the house?”

“Uh...” Ney rummages in his pockets. “House Wood-05. And Taym always lays these places out the same way, so... Wood Street should be... here.”

The house in question is a nice whitewashed cottage, with a crystal light hanging outside. There’s a small workshop out back - not a full forge, but certainly enough to make some nails or tinker with ironwork. The lights are on.

Keris swallows. Her throat feels dry. She edges forward.

She knocks.

There’s the sound of grumbling, and a woman answers the door, wrapped up in an undyed woollen gown. She looks to be in her mid-thirties, if Keris had to guess, with auburn hair - ah, no, it’s dyed with henna and she’s naturally black-haired and greying at the temples. She’s got the look of the Southern Tairans Keris has seen here and there.

“Can I help you?” she asks, with a southern accent. It’s more melodic and lilting than the northern accent. She looks Keris up and down, then past her and sees Ney leaning against the light-post. “Oh. Oh! My lady,” she says quickly.

“Is...” Keris stumbles a little; thrown by the unexpected woman. If she’s living in this house with the man here, that probably means... no, no. She can’t think about that. Not right now. “Is Kallash here?”

“He is, yes. Just let me... one moment.” She eases the door shut, then Keris hears the scurry of feet. 

“What is it, Allyshiah?” And there’s the Baishan accent, muted by the traces of how they speak in Malra, but still there.

“A lady at the door! And she’s with the Jackal! Asking for you! What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t know. I promise! I’ll go see what she wants. She’s asleep, at least, so we can leave her.”

Then there’s more feet, and the door’s open again.

He’s not a tall man - shorter than Ali - and his hair is grey. He’s older than Allyshiah, with a stocky, heavy build with well-developed shoulders. There’s heavy callouses on his hands and burns up and down his wrists and fingers.

And his eyes. His eyes are a pale grey.

“Can I help you, my lady?” he asks.

Grey eyes look up from under an embroidered hood and meet their match. Keris’s mouth opens, then closes again. She’s not sure of what to say.

The silence drags on long enough that he starts to get visibly uncomfortable before words come to her.

“Ali is safe,” Keris says quietly to her father. “Zanyira, too. I found them both in Baisha.”

“I... uh. What? What?” Kallash turns ghost-pale.

((kerissssss, what is it with u and dropping conversational bombs))

“You’re... you’re Kallash, of Baisha,” she forges forward, nervous but growing in certainty. “Your wife was Maryam. Your son was Ali.”

She pauses. Looks up at him, willing him to understand.

“And your daughter was Keris. Me.”

“No, that’s...” Kallash swallows. “It’s been fifteen years,” he says in a tiny voice. “And my daughter had brown hair.”

Keris closes her eyes. Every _single_ time she... urgh. Is her hair colour really that important?

“I think,” she says slowly, not quite able to disguise the trembling of exhaustion in her hands and shoulders, “I should come in. And explain things.”

They direct a look over at Ney, leaning against the light post in the snow.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, “I’m just stopping this vitally important light being stolen. Go do whatever you have to, Kiss.”

That only seems to produce more confusion. “Well, uh,” Kallash looks at Allyshiah. “I suppose you should come in. We... we have tea, I suppose.”

The cottage is well-washed inside, with the kind of clutter that comes from people just living inside. Keris’ feet knock against painted wooden blocks.

She’s guided through to a room which clearly isn’t used much, with cushioned chairs and a small Illuminationist shrine.

“I’ll... I’ll go put the kettle on,” Allyshiah says too loudly. “And, um, Keris, I should probably take your cloak and... um, the fire isn’t lit but I could probably light it but...”

((Out of horrible, morbid interest - can she hear any tiny little sleeping children elsewhere in the house, or just these two?))  
((Yes, she can hear one - maybe 5 or so, by her guess, and female.))  
((Oh, Keris.))

Keris considers what’s under the cloak. Keris shakes her head. “I... that wouldn’t be a good idea,” she says, eyeing the shrine with faint resignation. “I’m not... I was caught up in the fight earlier. My dress is torn up.” She neglects to mention the still-bloodied wound in her side or the punctured lung. “A fire would be nice, though. A-and tea.” Tea is a reliable anchor in situations like this. She knows the rules for tea.

Allyshiah retreats into the kitchen, and Keris gingerly lowers herself into a chair, wincing as her side - and entire chest area, actually - protest. “So. Um. What... do you want first?” she asks. “I _am_ your Keris. I proved it to Ali and to Xasan. Do... do you need me to prove it to you?”

He looks her directly in the eye. “I can feel your presence here,” he says softly, even sadly. “It’s like looking at a light that isn’t there. It’s even brighter than the Jackal’s. You couldn’t probably make me believe anything you want. But if you are my Keris, you have my eyes, and if you’re not, you’ve done your research.” He wrings his old, weathered, calloused hands together, and takes a deep breath. “Y-your mother is dead,” he says quietly.

“I know,” says Keris, equally quiet. “I... I found her first.”

There’s a long silence.

“She... lingered,” she says carefully. “She was very angry. And she was up in that tree for a very long time. But she’s...”

She has to stop and squeeze her eyes shut as the grief and pain and horror of Maryam’s last moments in the river hit her all over again. She’s what? ‘At peace’? ‘At rest’? If Keris could say either without breaking down into tears, she’d be a liar to outdo Sasi.

“... she’s gone now,” she chokes out instead. “I avenged her, and she’s gone.”

“Oh.” Kallash looks down. “I... I burned incense for her,” he says softly. “When I could. It wasn’t easy to get hold of, because... because the Illumination doesn’t approve of these kinds of private rituals. But it was years too late. I... I should have known she wouldn’t be content with that.”

“She wasn’t even content with vengeance, at the end,” Keris says miserably. “She was up there so long, I think she forgot everything good and happy. She was going to...”

But it’s still too raw, too recent. She shakes her head. “It’s over, anyway. Ali and Zanyira are safe and out of Taira by now, along with their little girl.” Her lips twitch upwards. “You’re a grandfather. Thrice over, actually. And...” Her eyes flicker upwards. “I’m a big sister. What’s her name?”

((Hee. I don’t know how much Kallash is going to put together about “it’s over literally since tonight, and Keris is fresh out of the final confrontation with her and wounded by her actions”, and I’m not even sure how much I _hope_ he puts together, but it fills me with glee either way.))

Kallash massages the back of his neck. “Uh. Well, uh. Well, I mean, I knew they took you and you were with us for the first part and... and then they took you away, along with all the other children and we... we didn’t know where, but one of the guards said that this buyer always wanted the children and...” he takes a breath. “I named her for you. She’s called Keris.”

((... _ohhhhh_...))  
((I was half expecting it but EVEN FUCKING SO))  
(( : D ))  
((THIS IS NOT HELPING YOUR DAUGHTER’S ABANDONMENT ISSUES, KALLASH))

Keris goes very, very still for a moment. Then, slowly and laboriously, she takes a measured breath, gritting her teeth against the spike of pain from her ribs and lung.

“I... I see,” she says, and _Keris he called her Keris like she’s a replacement like he’d lost his little girl but now he had another one so it didn’t matter anymore so there was no need to come for her he was never coming for her when she was in Nexus he-_

No. She squeezes her eyes shut. The girl is _five_. When Keris was huddling on the streets of Nexus dreaming about her mama and papa coming for her, Kallash was probably still a _slave_ ; he hadn’t even met this girl’s mother yet. She’s being stupid and jealous a-and...

“They... they took me to Nexus,” she says to distract herself from her tumbling thoughts. “Sold me there. I got away from the house, but not the city. I grew up there. Until... well. This.” She waves a hand at herself; at the lightless brilliance her father can sense within her. “I’d forgotten home, mostly. Where it was, what it was called; the details. But eventually I got a lead, and I followed it, and... here I am.”

She looks up through her lashes at Kallash - at her _papa_ , but it’s not as natural to call him that as it was mama, it feels stilted, unnatural, he’s so familiar to her memories of him but at the same time there’s a distance there she can’t bridge. The awkwardness hangs heavy in the air; his discomfort echoes out from the way he sits and the way he looks at her. It reverberates through each extended gap in the conversation. This isn’t the reunion she’d dreamed of.

What was it Xasan had said? That she’s far more Maryam’s daughter than Kallash’s. That Ali was the child of his father, not her.

Maybe that’s why this feels almost like meeting a stranger.

“I...” Kallash sighs. There’s old pain in his expression. “When they found I was a blacksmith, they made sure I wasn’t sent to the mines. If you’re useful, you’re not a slave for life here. I was useful. I already knew how to work machinery from the old wheel, so I knew how to tinker with parts. I’d earned my freedom in seven years. Then three years of working to save up to free Allyshiah. I met her... well, I was a smith working with parts, she could read and write so they put her in the bureaucracy handling my things. We... we hit it off. We were both... both mourning people. Now we’re free, and I head up a work team here, while she works in the offices by the docks.”

((Poor Keris. This isn’t going at all like she’d planned.))  
((Or hoped, rather. Dreamed.))

It’s very awkward here, and it’s a relief when Allyshiah - Keris’ new stepmother, although she’ll never think of her like that - comes back through with strong smoked black tea and honey. She chatters nervously as she sets the tray up before them.

“So... so, how do you know the Jackal, Keris?” she asks.

“... I followed the slaver-trail up from Baisha,” Keris explains after a momentary pause, reaching forward to claim a teacup. “It took me up onto the plateau and past a town there, and I had a look around to get my bearings. Ney arrived while I was there, and... happened to...”

They’re both staring at her. Kallash has gone pale again. Allyshiash looks horrified. Keris has a brief moment of terror that they’ve somehow sensed her demonic nature or that her caste mark has started burning or something, before she follows their gazes and realises. When she leant forward for the tea, her cloak fell open. The tattered, bloodied finery and horrific wound in her side are exposed.

“You’re hurt!” Allyshiah blurts out. “How... what... how are you walking around like that?”

Kallash doesn’t say a thing. His lips are pursed.

Keris winces, and twitches the cloak to cover herself again. “It’s fine,” she says hastily. “I’ve been hurt wo- I’m tougher than most people are. I just... slipped up in a fight, earlier. There was an assassin from the shahbanu in the capital earlier; it... drew some attention. From other ghosts.” Shaking her head, she attempts a smile. “It’s fine, really. We won, and they’re all gone now. And I’ll heal.”

“But it’s like a dog’s torn up your side!” Allyshiah insists. “I... I don’t even know how to treat something like that! What if the wound turns bad? Or...”

But the voices have been too loud. Keris hears the patter of tiny feet, and the creak of the door. There’s a tousled, grey-eyed little girl peeking through the door, with olive-coloured skin and southern-shaped eyes, who’s dressed in a loose smock.

Keris meets her half-sister’s eyes. And Keris meets her half-sister’s eyes.

“... hello,” the older Keris says softly. Her feelings about her half-sister are... complicated. But she’s not going to take them out on a child. Especially not a sleepy-eyed little girl the same age as she’d been when she was taken. “Did we wake you? I’m sorry.”

“Come on, little wing, to bed with you,” Kallash says, easing himself out of the seat.

“Who’s she?” tiny Keris demands.

“I’m just visiting,” Keris says softly. “I... I used to...”

She looks at her father - _their_ father; conflicted. Should she just tell the girl? Doesn’t she deserve to know?

“Are you planning on staying?” Kallash asks, and there’s all kinds of layered questions under that simple phrase.

“... no,” admits Keris. “I was... I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me when I left. I have a place of my own; a safe place, outside this war-torn country... a place where Ali and Zany and Hanilyia are going, where Xasan will be going, where...”

She looks up at him, aware she’s starting to babble. The same desperate hope as when she’d confronted her mother hums through her veins and flutters through her heart. “You could all come, you’d have... I’m going to rebuild the forge for Ali, he’s bringing the forge-goddess with him and the... the...”

But she knows, deep down in her gut. Some part of her has known since she saw the comfortable little cottage, since Allyshiash answered the door and she heard her half-sister’s heartbeat upstairs.

“Why are you going?” It’s a question from Kallash that comes from nowhere. “Things are safe here. This is the safe place. And... and I’m not a young man.” He’s crying; soft, dribbling tears. “I can’t move. I can’t rebuild everything. Not again.”

“This is a place built on slavery,” Keris says, and the gentleness and desperation in her voice temper a deep and resonant swell of something terrible and implacable and sure. Valiant thunder rolls in the back of her mind, and she feels his silent presence behind the window of her eyes. “A place where a man like Pazyryk Lak could rise to become an istandar. I can’t live in a place like this. Not long-term. Either it would break, or I would.”

“Taira always has been built on that,” and that’s Allyshiah, sad and soft. She gathers up her daughter, hugging her on her lap. “I was born a slave. At least here, they treated me better. They didn’t hand me off to someone as a prize. The law here says a slave’s children are kept with her. And they let Kallash free me. Malra is the best place in Taira.”

“But Taira isn’t all the world,” Keris replies, tears of frustration stinging at her eyes as she feels the conversation slipping between her fingers; the gulf between them widening. Little Keris is looking between her parents and the strange dark-skinned lady with her unfamiliar accent, wondering what’s going on. “Zanyira wanted better for her daughter than this endless war and turmoil; that’s why she and Ali agreed to come with me. _I_ would want better for _my_ children. If Taira is built on slavery, nobody in it will ever be safe from enslavement. Not even the places it seems peaceful.”

Kallash rises. Awkwardly, clumsily, he wraps his arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Keris. I really am,” he says softly. “You’re always welcome here. I know you know that. And I do love you. But I’m not going to give up the life I have. I have a wife and a child, and I’m not going to throw away what I’ve managed to build for myself here. I’m happy here. You’re my daughter, and... and you’ve just come out of the blue, torn up and hurt and... I can’t live like that. If you stayed here, if you weren’t going to leave, things could be different. Why not stay? You’re powerful, and the naib recruits powerful people. Just like the Jackal who’s waiting out there.” He touches her cheek, and his fingers come away wet.

“I ca- I can’t,” Keris says helplessly, leaning into him. It hurts, of course. But she ignores that. “I have... I have people, I have a whole _island_ under my protection, I can’t... I can’t just abandon them. I can’t stay here... but... but you won’t come...”

She swipes a hand across her eyes, dashing away the tears. “I can’t even take you to meet your grandchildren,” she whispers brokenly. “They’ve already set off; earlier tonight. I thought- I wanted...”

Gulping past the pain in her throat hurts. She _could_ stay. Rathan and Calesco and the others can’t have got far. She could catch up to them, tell them to wait outside the city, wait until she’s healed and then approach the naib along with Ney. He _might_ accept her if it meant losing Ney otherwise - at the very least, Ney seems confident he would. Mahshid would be a problem, but she could at least _try_ it. And if the attempt worked... she’d have beauty and artistry and enough wonders to anchor all her children out in Creation at once. She’d have bickering with Ney and a relationship with her father... and perhaps with her little half-sister; named for her and bearing the same eyes as their father and brother. Getting Ali and Zany back would be trickier, and they’d no doubt be upset at having gone so far only to turn back and return to Taira, but Rathan could help smooth things over...

... or she could leave. Leave her father to the new family he’s built here, leave behind the breathtaking vistas of Malra and its gorgeous craft, accept that she’ll likely never see Ney again - or vanishingly rarely, at most. Go back to the Southwest and the Hui Cha and the Isle of Gulls and her plans there. Back to the Reclamation and the Memory of Baisha. Back to Sasi.

She could choose either one.

But she can’t choose both.

Keris takes a deep breath. She looks at the mortals in front of her, as her father releases her from the hug. At the aging smith, the woman with greying hair and a worried frown. At the bewildered, slightly frightened, slightly grumpy little girl between them; clinging to her mother, staring between her father and the woman she’s starting to understand is her sister.

Keris chooses.

“Have a good life, okay?” she whispers, her voice cracking. “Know that... that I’m alive out there. That I’m free. That... I might not be safe, always, but I’m... I’m happy. Mostly.” She swallows, feeling the tears slide down her cheeks. It feels like they’ve worn a groove into her cheeks over the course of tonight; like she’ll wake to find scars in the shape of tear-tracks tomorrow. “Live out your life in peace. Make... make sure she grows up safe and happy and free.”

“Y-you don’t need to go now! We’re not driving you away. I’m not driving you away,” Kallash says, words falling over themselves. He straightens and winces in pain, his work showing its toll on him. “Keris, I missed you so much and I thought... I thought you were dead and I cried for you and I burned incense for you as well as Maryam! It’s...”

“I do,” she sniffs. “I’m sorry. I-I wish I could stay. I do. But I’ve been in Taira too long already. I need to... to go home.” She stands - flinching again at the stabbing pain from her side - and hugs him. “I love you too. Papa. But this isn’t my country anymore. Maybe it hasn’t been since that night all those years ago.” Another sniff. “And there’s a place far away that is, and it’s missing me.”

Keris is leaving when he says one last thing. “D-do you think I’ll ever see you again?” he asks, voice soft.

She looks back, her eyes meeting those oh-so-familiar ones for perhaps the last time.

“In dreams, maybe,” she says, the lump in her throat choking her as she smiles a bittersweet smile. “But... I think this is goodbye. I don’t... I don’t think I could come back here again. Not after all that’s happened.” She blinks tearfully. “I’ll always love you, papa. And I’m sorry... I’m sorry the little girl I was can’t come back to you.”

Kallash hugs Keris as she walks out the door.

But it’s the little girl named Keris, not the grown woman. It closes behind her. And she’s alone in the cold.

She’s made her choice, and the falling snowflakes are so very beautiful. She can hear their passage through the air, taste the soot in them from the forges, and more than that, she understands them.

She understands now, that Taira was holding her back. She understands that Keris Kallashdokht might have come from here, but Keris Dulmeadokht can never come home here. Because it’s not her home, and perhaps it never was. It was the home of a girl she was, who she stopped being on the mean streets of Nexus - and that girl she stopped being when she met Dulmea, and that girl... that girl probably died when Keris opened her eyes again as a sorcerer on the island with Sasi.

She’d known it all along. She just hadn’t accepted it.

Ney is waiting for her. “So I’m guessing you didn’t get what you wanted,” he says. He tilts his head, eyes keen. “Or was it just that you realised you didn’t want it anymore?”

“No,” she denies softly. Exhaustion is setting in full-force, now, and it’s a struggle to keep her eyes open. “I wanted it. I just... couldn’t have it.” She breathes out slowly. “You’ll look after them when I’m gone? Keep an eye on them, check in every so often? I know Malra is safe, but I’d... I’d feel better if...” Her mouth twists. “We’re not on the same side, exactly. But I can trust you with this.”

Ney huffs on his hands. “Given that if something bad happened to them, you’d probably come looking for revenge, I think it’s sort of a question of national security that they’re kept safe,” he says dryly. “And what of you? What will you do now?”

Keris looks around. It’s snowing. She’s cold, despite the cloak. Her side hurts; a dull throb of background pain punctuated by the occasional white-hot sharp spike of agony. Her whole body aches like she’s been straining it for hours past her limit - a strain she knows is from channelling too much of her soul through too-fragile flesh. A headache pounds behind her eyes, which feel heavy and sluggish and raw.

“Rest,” she sighs. “I’ll rest. And then... go home.”

Her eyes turn towards the west. “I’ve been gone long enough. And I’ve got work to do there.”


End file.
